THE 
ROOT  OF  EVIL 


THOMA5  DIXON 


'Vt^? 


11  He  turned  and  saw  Nan" 


THE 

ROOT   OF   EVIL 

A   NOVEL 


BY 

THOMAS    DIXON 

AUTHOR     OF 

THE     LEOPARD'S     SPOTS,"      "THE      CLANSMAN 
"THE     ONE     WOMAN,"     ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED      BY     GEORGE      WRIGHT 


GARDEN  CITY       NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1911 


A1X  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,    IQII,    BY   THOMAS  DIXON 
PUBLISHED,     JANUARY,      IQII 


DEDICATED 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

MY  FATHER 

THE  REVEREND   THOMAS  DIXON 
1820-1909 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I  -THE  SEED 

CJJ  \PTRP  PAGB 

I.  A  Star  Boarder 3 

II.  Things  Beyond  Price     ....          15 

III.  A  Lovers'  Quarrel  ....         20 

IV.  Mr.  Bivens  Calls 33 

V.  An  Issue  is  Forced         .         .         .         .         41 

VI.  The  Forgotten  Man       ....         48 

VII.  A  Vision 57 

VIII.     Struggle 64 

IX.     Despair 82 

X.  Groping         ......         90 

XI.  Illumination           .'.•".         .         .         .         96 

BOOK  II  —  THE  ROOT 

I.     An  Old  Perfume no 

II.  An  Intruder  .         .         .         .         .123 

III.  A  Straight  Tip       ...  .       127 

IV.  Every  Man's  Shadow     .         .         .         .133 
V.  Gathering  Clouds           .         .         .         .143 

VI.  The  Storm  Breaks          .         .         .         .153 

VII.  At  the  King's  Command         .         .         .       162 

VIII.  A  Ray  of  Sunlight  .       168 
IX.  Beneath  the  Skin            .         .         .         .174 

X.  The  Demigod         .         .         .         .         .184 


CONTENTS 


XI.  The  Lamp  of  Aladdin 

XII.  Temptation         . 

XIII.  The  Forbidden  Land  . 

XIV.  An  Aftermath     . 
XV.  Confession          . 

XVI.  The  Unbidden  Guest  . 

XVII.  Some  Inside  Facts 

XVIII.  The  Dance  of  Death  . 

XIX.  The  Last  Illusion 

XX.  The  Parting  of  the  Ways    . 

XXL  A  Plea  for  Justice 

BOOK  III  —  THE  FLOWER 

I.  The  Devil  Smiles 

II.  Beside  Beautiful  Waters      . 

III.  The  Tempter's  Voice 

IV.  The  Mockery  of  the  Sun     . 
V.  A  Trump  Card  . 

VI.  Through  Purple  Curtains    . 

VII.  The  Land  of  the  Sky 

VIII.  The  White  Messenger 

IX.  The  Eyes  of  Pity 

X.  An  Epilogue       .         .         .         , 


PAGE 

187 

2OI 
2Og 
221 
230 

235 
242 

259 

272 

287 
303 


315 

321 

333 
348 

353 
366 

374 
392 
402 
407 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  He  turned  and  saw  Nan"     .       .       .        Frontispiece 

PACING  PAGE 

"  '  I  was  seeing  a  vision,  little  pal'  '  104 

"  He  hurled  him  down  the  steps"  ....  180 

"  '  I  must  save  her.     I  must  be  cunning' '        .  284 

"  Nan  looked  at  him  in  despair"   ....  386 


THE  ROOT  OF  EVIL 


LEADING  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  STORY 


SCENE .-    New  York  and  the  Mountains  of  North  Carolina 
TIME:    f8p8  to 


JAMES    STUART,  a  young  Southerner  in  New  York. 

NAN  PRIMROSE,  his  fiancee. 

MRS.  PRIMROSE,  her  mother. 

JOHN  C.  CALHOUN  BIVENS,  a  millionaire. 

DR.  HENRY  WOODMAN,  who  loves  his  neighbour, 

HARRIET,  his  daughter. 

His  MAJESTY,  the  King  of  America. 


THE  ROOT  OF  EVIL 


Boofc  I  -me  See& 

CHAPTER   I 

A    STAR    BOARDER 

At  the  end  of  a  warm  spring  day  in  New  York,  James 
Stuart  sat  in  the  open  window  of  his  room  on  Washing 
ton  Square,  smiling.  With  a  sense  of  deep  joy  he 
watched  the  trees  shake  the  raindrops  from  their  new 
emerald  robes,  and  the  flying  clouds  that  flecked  the 
Western  sky  melt  into  seas  of  purple  and  gold. 

A  huckster  turned  into  Fourth  Street,  crying: 

"  Straw  —  berries  !  Straw  —  berries  !  " 

And  the  young  lawyer  laughed  lazily. 

The  chatter  of  the  sparrows,  the  shouts  of  children 
in  the  Square  and  the  huckster's  drawling  call  seemed 
the  subtones  of  a  strangely  beautiful  oratorio  of  nature 
into  which  every  sound  of  earth  had  softly  melted. 
Even  the  roar  of  the  elevated  trains  on  Sixth  Avenue 
and  the  screech  of  their  wheels  as  the  cars  turned  the 
corner  of  the  filthy  street  in  the  rear  were  music.  A 
secret  joy  filled  the  world.  Nothing  could  break  its 
spell  —  not  even  the  devilish  incessant  rattle  of  the 
machine  hammers  flattening  the  heads  of  the  rivets 
on  the  huge  steel  warehouse  of  the  American  Chemical 
Company  rising  across  the  avenue.  The  music  he 

3 


4  The  Root  of  Evil 

heard  was  from  ivithin,  and  the  glory  of  life  was  shining 
from  his  eyes. 

Again  the  huckster's  cry  rang  over  the  Square: 

"Straw  —  berries !     Straw  —  berries ! " 

The  dreamer  closed  his  eyes  and  smiled.  A  flood  of 
tender  memories  stole  into  his  heart  from  the  sunlit 
fields  of  the  South.  He  had  gone  hunting  wild 
strawberries  with  Nan  Primrose  on  the  hills  at  home  in 
North  Carolina  the  day  he  first  knew  that  he  loved  her. 

How  beautiful  she  was  that  day  in  the  plain  blue 
cotton  dress  which  fitted  her  superb  young  figure  to 
perfection!  How  well  he  remembered  every  detail  of 
that  ramble  over  the  red  hills  —  he  could  hear  now  the 
whistle  of  a  bob  white  sitting  on  the  fence  near  the 
spring  where  they  lunched,  calling  to  his  mate.  As 
Nan  nestled  closer  on  the  old  stile,  they  saw  the  little 
brown,  bird  slip  from  her  nest  in  a  clump  of  straw,  lift 
her  head,  and  softly  answer. 

"Look!"  Nan  had  whispered  excitedly.  " There's 
her  nest!" 

He  recalled  distinctly  his  tremor  of  sympathetic  ex 
citement  as  her  warm  hand  drew  him  to  the  spot.  With 
peculiar  vividness  he  remembered  the  extraordinary 
moisture  of  the  palm  of  her  hand  trembling  with  eager 
interest  as  he  counted  the  eggs  —  twenty  beauties.  But 
above  all  memories  stood  out  one!  As  he  bent  close 
above  her  he  caught  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the 
delicate  perfume  of  her  dark  rich  hair  and  felt  the  thrill 
of  its  mystery. 

"It's  their  little  home,  isn't  it,  Jim!"  she  exclaimed, 

"I  hope  I  can  build  as  snug  a  nest  for  you  some  day, 
Nan!"  he  whispered  gravely. 

And  when  she  stood  silent  and  blushing,  he  made 
the  final  plunge.  Looking  straight  into  her  dark  eyes 
he  had  said: 


A  Star  Boarder  5 

"I  love  you,   dear  Nan!" 

As  she  stood  very  still,  looking  down  in  silence,  with 
a  throb  of  fear  and  aching  tenderness  he  dared  to  slip  his 
arm  around  her  waist  and  kiss  the  trembling  lips.  And 
then  he  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  deep  red  strawberry 
stain  in  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  In  spite  of  her  strug 
gles  he  laughingly  insisted  on  kissing  it  away  —  a  fact 
which  led  to  his  first  revelation  of  her  character  — 
could  he  ever  forget  the  glory  and  wonder  of  it!  She 
had  seized  his  arms,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Don't  —  don't,  Jim  —  I  can't  stand  that  any 
more!"  And  then  as  a  dreamy  smile  stole  into  her 
face  she  suddenly  threw  her  own  arms  around  his  neck 
in  passionate  tenderness,  returning  with  interest  every 
kiss  he  had  taken  — 

"  Straw  —  berries!" 

The  man  looked  up  and  drawled  his  familiar  cry. 

"  Yes  --  Yes ! "  he  shouted.  "Two  boxes.  Put  them 
on  the  stoop  —  and  keep  the  change!" 

He  threw  the  man  a  silver  dollar,  and  the  white  teeth 
of  the  Italian  signalled  a  smile  of  thanks  as  he  bowed 
low,  lifting  his  dirty  cap  in  acknowledgment. 

Nor  was  Nan's  beauty  merely  a  memory,  it  was  the 
living  presence,  the  source  of  the  joy  that  filled  his  soul 
to  overflowing  to-day,  for  she  had  grown  more  beautiful 
than  ever  since  her  mother  had  moved  to  New  York. 

He  had  always  believed  that  the  real  reason  in  the 
back  of  Mrs.  Primrose's  shallow  head  for  this  move  to 
the  North  had  been  the  determination  to  break  his 
engagement  and  make  a  more  brilliant  marriage  for 
Nan.  And  so  when  they  left  he  followed. 

The  mother  had  always  professed  for  him  unbounded 
loyalty  and  admiration.  But  he  had  never  been  de 
ceived.  He  knew  that  Mrs.  Primrose  lied  as  she 
breathed  —  politely,  but  continuously  —  by  her  in- 


6  The  Root  of  Evil 

voluntary  muscles.  Day  and  night  since  they  had 
reached  New  York  she  had  schemed  for  Nan.  She  had 
joined  every  society,  club,  and  coterie  into  which  she 
could  buy,  push,  or  manoeuvre  her  way.  She  had  used 
her  Revolutionary  ancestry  and  high  social  standing 
in  the  old  South  as  the  entering  wedge  and  had  finally 
succeeded  in  forcing  her  way  into  at  least  one  charmed 
circle  of  the  rich  and  powerful  through  the  Daughters 
of  the  American  Revolution. 

She  had  leased  a  house  in  the  fashionable  neighbour 
hood  of  Cramer cy  Park,  and  to  meet  the  extraordinary 
expense,  began  a  careful  and  systematic  search  for  rich 
young  men  to  whom  she  could  let  two  floors.  Stuart 
had  seen  through  her  scheme  at  once  —  especially  as 
she  had  insisted  with  increasing  protestations  of  love 
that  the  engagement  be  kept  a  secret  until  they  were 
ready  to  marry. 

He  was  sure  in  his  heart  that  Nan  had  never  joined 
in  those  plans  of  her  mother,  though  he  had  wished  that 
she  might  have  shown  a  little  more  strength  in  resist 
ing  them.  He  trusted  her  implicitly,  and  yet  she  was 
so  beautiful  he  couldn't  see  how  any  man  with  red  blood 
in  his  veins  could  resist  her.  And  he  had  spent  two 
miserable  years.  Every  time  her  mother  had  come 
near,  purring  and  smiling,  he  had  always  expected  to 
collide  with  a  rival  as  he  went  out  the  door. 

Well,  he  was  going  to  win  at  last,  and  the  world  was 
full  of  music!  He  had  the  biggest  surprise  of  life  in 
store  for  Nan  —  something  no  true  woman's  heart  could 
resist.  He  had  succeeded  after  incredible  difficulties 
"  in  secretly  building  a  cottage  by  the  sea  in  Brooklyn. 
Its  lawn  sloped  to  the  water's  edge,  and  a  trim  boat 
lay  nodding  at  the  dock.  He  had  been  out  of  town 
two  weeks  —  ostensibly  on  law  business  in  Balti 
more  —  in  fact  he  had  spent  the  time  putting  the 


A  Star  Boarder  7 

finishing  touches  on  this  home.  He  had  planted  hedges, 
fruit  trees,  vines  and  flowers,  and  covered  every  bare 
inch  of  soil  with  fresh  green  sod.  Neither  Mrs.  Prim 
rose  nor  Nan  had  the  faintest  suspicion  of  what  he  had 
been  doing.  He  had  written  several  letters  to  Nan  and 
a  friend  had  mailed  them  in  Baltimore. 

To-morrow  he  would  lead  his  sweetheart  into  this 
holy  of  holies  of  Life  —  the  home  Love  had  built. 
He  could  see  now  the  smile  of  tenderness  break  over 
her  proud  face  as  he  should  hand  her  the  keys  and  ask 
her  to  fix  the  wedding  day. 

No  matter  on  what  his  eye  rested,  he  could  see  only 
Beauty,  Glory,  Sunlight! 

An  assortment  of  idlers,  tramps,  and  thieves  had 
drifted  into  the  Square  and  crowded  its  seats.  A 
drunken  woman,  her  slouchy  black  dress  bedraggled 
and  drenched  from  the  rain,  lurched  across  the  walk, 
dropped  on  a  bench  and  sat  muttering  curses  at  a 
carriage  on  the  north  side.  He  had  often  looked  at 
those  flashing  windows  in  the  millionaire's  row  beside 
Fifth  Avenue  and  then  at  the  grim  figures  of  the  human 
wolves  and  reptiles  that  crawled  into  the  Square  from 
below  Fourth  Street,  and  wondered  what  might  happen 
if  they  should  really  meet.  But  to-day  he  gazed  with 
unseeing  eyes.  There  was  on  all  the  earth  no  poverty, 
no  crime,  no  shame,  no  despair,  no  pain,  no  conflict. 
The  splendour  of  the  sunset  was  in  his  soul  and  the  world 
was  athrob  with  joy. 

His  reveries  were  broken  by  a  timid  knock  on  the 
door  and  a  faint  call: 

"Jim!" 

"Come  in!"  he  cried. 

" You're  not  a  bit  glad  to  see  me,"  the  soft  voice 
said.  "I've  been  standing  out  there  for  ages!" 

"  Forgive  me,  Sunshine,  I  must  have  been  dreaming," 


8  The  Root  of  Evil 

Stuart  pleaded,  leaping  from  his  seat  and  seizing  her 
hand.  "I'm  awfully  glad  to  see  you!" 

"Then,  don't  call  me  that  name  again,"  she  pouted. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it's  undignified.     All  nicknames  are." 

"But  isn't  it  beautiful?" 

"It  would  be  if  my  hair  wasn't  red  and  I  didn't  have 
freckles  and  was  older,"  she  protested,  looking  away  to 
hide  her  emotion. 

"But  your  hair  isn't  quite  red.  It's  just  the  colour 
of  the  gold  in  honeycomb,"  he  answered,  gently  touch 
ing  her  dishevelled  locks  —  "besides,  those  few  little 
freckles  are  becoming  on  your  pink  and  white  skin  — 
and  you  are  nearly  fifteen." 

"Well,  my  hair  is  red  enough  to  make  me  think  you're 
teasing  when  you  call  me  Sunshine,"  she  replied 
demurely. 

"Then  I  won't  call  you  that  any  more.  I'll  just 
say,  little  pal  —  how's  that?" 

"That's  better!"  she  said  with  a  smile  and  sigh. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I've  been  so  dreadfully  lonely  since  you 
were  away!  Where  did  you  go?  And  why  did  you 
stay  so  long?  And  why  didn't  you  write  me  more 
than  one  little  letter?  And  why  didn't  you  answer 
the  one  I  wrote  in  reply?  —  You  know  I'm  almost  an 
orphan  anyhow.  Papa  spends  nearly  all  his  time,  at 
the  factory,  the  drug  store,  the  dispensary,  and  visiting 
his  patients.  I  declare,  Jim,  I'll  die  if  you  go  away 
again.  I  just  can't  stand  it."  She  dropped  at  last 
into  a  chair  exhausted. 

Stuart  smilingly  took  her  hand: 

"Lonely,  Miss  Chatterbox  —  when  that  big  father 
of  yours  worships  the  very  ground  you  walk  on!" 

"Yes,  I  know  he  does,  Jim,  and  I  love  him,  too,  but 
you've  no  idea  how  dreadfully  still  the  house  is  when 


A  Star  Boarder  9 

you  are  gone.  Ohrsay?  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  —  tell 
me  you'll  do  what  I  ask  —  promise  me !  Say  you  will ! " 

" What  is  it?" 

"I  want  you  to  be  a  real  boarder,  and  eat  with  us! 
And  when  Papa's  gone,  I'll  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
smile  and  pour  your  tea.  You'll  do  it,  won't  you? 
Say  yes  —  of  course  you  will ! " 

" But,  my  dear  child,  your  father  don't  take  board 


ers " 


"But  he  will  if  I  ask  him.  I'll  beg  and  tease  him 
till  he  gives  in." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  letting  you  put  him  to  all 
that  trouble." 

"But  it  wouldn't  be  any  trouble.  You  see  I'd  keep 
house  for  you!" 

"That  would  be  very  nice,  dear,  but  I'm  sure  your 
father  would  draw  the  line  at  a  real  boarder.  I'd  never 
have  gotten  this  beautiful  room  with  that  big  old-fash 
ioned  open  fireplace  in  your  home  if  it  hadn't  happened 
that  our  fathers  fought  each  other  in  the  war,  and  be 
came  friends  one  day  on  a  big  battle-field.  You  see,  my 
father  took  such  a  liking  to  yours  that  I  came  straight 
to  find  him  when  I  reached  this  big  town.  It's  been  a 
second  home  to  me." 

"Be  our  boarder  and  I'll  make  it  a  real  home  for  you, 
Jim!  "  she  pleaded. 

"Ah!  —  you'll  be  making  a  real  home  some  day  for 
one  of  those  boys  I  saw  at  your  birthday  party  —  the 
tall  dark  one  I  think?" 

"No.     He  doesn't  measure  up  to  my  standard." 

"What  ails  him?" 

"He's  a  coward.  My  hero  must  be  brave  —  for  I'm 
timid." 

"Then  it  will  be  that  fat  blond  fellow  with  a  jolly 
laugh?" 


io  The  Root  of  Evil 

"No,  he's  a  fibber.  My  Prince,  when  he  comes,  must 
be  truthful.  It's  so  hard  for  me  always  to  tell  the 
truth." 

"Then  it  will  be  that  dreamy  looking  one  of  fifteen 
you  danced  with  twice?" 

"No,  he's  too  frail.  My  hero  must  be  strong  —  for 
I  am  weak.  And  he  must  have  a  big,  noble  ideal  of 
life;  for  mine  is  very  small  —  just  a  little  home  nest, 
and  a  baby,  and  the  love  of  one  man!" 

Stuart  looked  at  her  intently  while  a  mist  gathered 
in  his  eyes: 

"I'm  not  sure  about  that  being  such  a  very  small 
ideal,  girlie!" 

"But  oh,  my,  I've  forgotten  what  I  came  running 
home  for!  Papa  sent  me  to  ask  you  to  please  come 
down  to  the  factory  right  away.  He  wants  to  see  you 
on  a  very  important  matter.  It  must  be  awfully  im 
portant.  He  looked  so  worried.  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  him  worried  before." 

"I'll  go  at  once,"  Stuart  said,  closing  the  window 
and  blowing  a  kiss  to  the  girl  as  he  hurried  down  the 
stairs. 

He  strode  rapidly  across  town  toward  the  Bowery, 
through  Fourth  Street,  wondering  what  could  have 
happened  to  break  the  accustomed  good  humour  of  the 
doctor. 

"Worry's  something  so  utterly  foreign  to  his  char 
acter,"  the  young  lawyer  mused. 

The  doctor  had  long  since  retired  from  the  practise 
of  medicine  as  a  profession,  and  only  used  it  now  as 
his  means  of  ministering  to  the  wants  of  his  neighbours. 
His  neighbours  were  a  large  tribe,  however,  scattered 
all  the  way  from  the  cellars  and  dives  of  Water  Street 
to  the  shanties  and  goat  ranges  of  the  Upper  Harlem. 
Stuart  had  never  met  a  man  so  full  of  contagious  health. 


A  Star  Boarder  n 

He  was  a  born  physician.  There  was  healing  in  the 
touch  of  his  big  hand.  Healing  light  streamed  from 
his  brown  eyes,  and  his  iron-gray  beard  sparkled  with 
it.  His  presence  in  a  sick-room  seemed  to  fill  it  with 
waves  of  life,  and  his  influence  over  the  patients  to 
whom  he  ministered  was  little  short  of  hypnotic. 

"  Christian  Science  is  no  new  doctrine,  my  boy,"  he  had 
said  one  day  in  answer  to  a  question  about  the  new  cult. 

"I  thought  it  was/'  Stuart  answered  in  surprise. 

"No.  All  successful  physicians  practise  Christian 
Science.  The  doctor  must  heal  first  the  mind.  I  can 
kill  a  man  with  an  idea.  So  often  I  have  cured  him 
with  an  idea.  If  I  can  succeed  with  ideas,  I  do  so.  If 
there's  no  mind  to  work  on,  why  then  I  use  pills." 

The  young  man  stopped  impatiently  at  Broadway, 
unable  to  cross.  A  little  girl  of  ten,  pale  and  weak  and 
underfed,  staggering  under  a  load  of  clothing  from  a 
sweatshop  on  the  East  Side,  had  been  knocked  down 
trying  to  cross  the  street  to  deliver  her  burden  to  a 
Broadway  clothier.  A  long  line  of  cars  stood  blocked 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  every  car  packed  with  human 
freight,  every  seat  filled,  every  inch  of  standing  room 
jammed  with  men  and  women  holding  to  straps.  Tired 
office  boys  even  clung  to  the  rear  guards  at  the  risk 
of  death  from  a  sudden  collision  with  the  car  behind. 

They  were  always  crowded  so  at  this  hour.  And 
yet  Stuart  recalled  with  a  curious  touch  of  irony  the  fate 
of  the  indomitable  old  man,  Jake  Sharp,  who  had  fought 
for  years  to  force  this  franchise  for  a  public  necessity 
through  the  city  government.  His  reward  was  a  suit 
of  stripes,  shame,  dishonour,  death.  No  one  knew, 
or  cared,  or  remembered  it  now.  A  new  set  of  corrupt 
law  makers  took  the  place  of  the  old  ones,  their  palms 
still  itching  for  money,  money,  money,  always  more 
money. 


12  The  Root  of  Evil 

"And  men  who  seek  to  serve  the  people  must  grease 
their  itching  palms  or  make  way  for  those  who  will!"  he 
muttered,  fighting  his  way  across.  "A  tough  town  — 
this,  for  a  young  lawyer  with  ideals.  I  wonder  how 
long  I '11  hold  out?" 

Stuart  found  the  doctor  standing  at  the  door  of  his 
factory,  shaking  hands  and  chatting  with  his  employees 
as  they  emerged  from  the  building  at  the  close  of  a  day's 
work.  A  plain  old-fashioned  brick  structure  just  off 
the  Bowery  was  this  factory,  and  across  the  front  ran 
a  weatherbeaten  sign  which  had  not  been  changed  for 
more  than  fifty  years: 

"HENRY  WOODMAN,  MANUFACTURING 
CHEMIST" 

The  doctor's  father  had  established  the  business 
fifty-two  years  ago,  and  the  son,  who  bore  the  father's 
name,  had  succeeded  to  its  management  on  his  death, 
which  occurred  just  after  the  return  of  the  younger  man 
with  his  victorious  regiment  from  their  last  campaign 
with  Grant  before  Petersburg  and  Appomattox. 

'He  had  given  up  the  practise  of  medicine  after  the 
war,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  business  of  which  his 
father  had  been  justly  proud.  The  house  of  Henry 
Woodman  had  been  a  pioneer  in  the  establishing  of 
a  trade  in  pure  drugs.  In  the  time  of  the  elder  Wood 
man,  adulteration  and  humbug  were  the  rule,  not  the 
exception,  in  the  business. 

Woodman's  stalwart  figure  towered  in  the  doorway 
above  his  employees  as  they  passed  into  the  street. 
For  every  man,  boy,  and  girl  he  had  a  nod,  a  smile,  or 
a  pleasant  word.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  the  employer 
in  this  case  had  made  his  business  the  way  to  the  hearts 
of  the  people  who  served  him. 


A  Star  Boarder  13 

He  took  Stuart's  hand  in  his  big  crushing  grip  and 
whispered : 

"Have  you  any  engagement  this  evening?" 

Stuart  smiled  and  hesitated. 

"A  girl  — I  see!"  laughed  the  doctor.  "Well,  I'll 
get  through  by  nine  o'clock.  You  can  give  me  the 
three  hours  till  then?  It's  a  matter  of  importance, 
and  I  want  your  advice." 

"My  advice  —  you!"  Stuart  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  You're  the  brightest  young  lawyer  I  know 
in  town.  I've  gotten  along  without  lawyers  so  far,  but 
I  guess  I'm  in  for  it  now.  You  can  come  with  me?" 

"Of  course,"  Stuart  answered  hurriedly.  "Forgive 
my  apparent  hesitation,  doctor.  I  was  just  surprised 
at  your  worry.  What's  the  matter?" 

The  older  man  was  silent  a  moment  and  then  slowly 
said: 

"I'll  tell  you  later.  I  wish  to  show  you  something 
before  I  ask  your  advice  on  a  question  of  law;  we  must 
hurry.  We  will  finish  by  nine  and  you  will  be  a  little 
late  for  dinner.  But  if  she  loves  you,  you  can  telephone 
and  she  will  wait.  It  will  be  all  right?  " 

Stuart  coloured. 

"Of  course,  it  will  be  all  right  —  besides,  she  doesn't 
know  yet  that  I've  returned." 

The  doctor  handed  the  young  lawyer  a  letter  which 
he  opened  and  read  hastily. 

No.  60  GRAMERCY  PARK. 
To  DR.  HENRY  WOODMAN, 

Dear  Sir:  I  must  have  an  answer  to  the  proposition  of  the  American 
Chemical  Company  before  noon  to-morrow.  After  that  hour  the  matter 
will  be  definitely  closed. 

JNO.  C.  CALHOUN  BIVENS. 
April  2,  1898. 

Still  looking  at  the  letter  he  asked : 
"What  does  it  mean?" 


14  The  Root  of  Evil 

"An  ultimatum  from  the  Chemical  Trust.  I'll  ex 
plain  to  you  when  you've  seen  something  of  my  work 
to-night.  The  first  hour  I  want  you  to  put  in  with 
me  at  the  dispensary." 

Stuart's  eye  rested  on  the  embossed  heading  of  the 
letter,  "No.  60  Gramercy  Park,"  and  he  slowly  crushed 
the  paper.  It  was  the  Primrose  house,  Nan's  home! 
Her  mother  had  succeeded. 

Bivens,  the  new  sensation  in  high  finance,  she  had 
established  as  her  star  boarder  in  his  absence!  Bivens, 
his  schoolmate  at  college  —  Bivens,  the  little  razor- 
back  scion  of  poor  white  trash  from  the  South  who  had 
suddenly  become  a  millionaire ! 

His  blood  boiled  with  rage.  He  could  see  the  soft, 
cat-like  movements  of  Mrs.  Primrose  and  hear  her 
purring  while  she  spun  the  web  to  entangle  him  with 
Nan.  As  he  turned  and  followed  the  doctor,  he 
laughed  with  sudden  fierce  determination. 


CHAPTER  II 

THINGS    BEYOND    PRICE 

The  dispensary  was  Woodman's  hobby.  The  old- 
fashioned  drug  store  stood  on  a  corner  of  the  Bowery, 
and  in  the  rear  extension  which  opened  on  the  side 
street,  he  had  established  what  he  had  laughingly  called 
his  "Life  Line,"  a  free  dispensary  where  any  man 
needing  medicine  or  a  doctor's  advice  could  have  it 
without  charge  if  unable  to  pay. 

For  ten  years  he  had  maintained  the  work  at  his  own 
expense,  out  of  the  profits  of  his  store.  The  happiest 
hours  of  his  life  he  had  spent  here  ministering  to  the 
wants  of  his  neighbours.  He  had  come  to  be  more 
than  consulting  physician  at  the  dispensary.  He  had 
become  the  friend  and  counsellor  of  thousands. 

The  waiting  room  was  crowded,  and  the  line  extended 
into  the  street.  On  the  doctor's  entrance  the  shadows 
suddenly  lifted.  Men  and  women  smiled  and  called 
his  name.  He  waved  a  cheerful  salutation  and  hurried 
to  his  place  beside  the  assistant. 

For  two  hours  Stuart  saw  him  minister  with  patience 
and  skill  to  the  friendless  and  the  poor.  For  each 
a  cheerful  word,  and  the  warm  grasp  of  his  big  hand 
with  the  prescription.  The  young  lawyer  watched  with 
curious  interest  the  quickened  step  with  which  each  one 
left.  The  medicine  had  begun  to  work  before  the  pre 
scription  was  filled.  Waves  of  healing  from  a  beautiful 
spirit  had  entered  the  soul,  and  drooping  heads  were  sud 
denly  raised. 

15 


1 6  The  Root  of  Evil 

When  the  last  applicant  had  gone,  Stuart  turned  to 
the  doctor: 

"And  what  is  the  proposition  which  the  distinguished 
young  head  of  the  Chemical  Trust  has  made  you?" 

"That  I  sell  my  business  to  them  at  their  own  valua 
tion  and  come  into  the  Trust  —  or  get  off  the  earth." 

"And  you  wish  my  advice?" 

"Yes." 

"What  figure  did  he  name? " 

"More  than  its  cash  value." 

"Then  you  will  accept,  of  course?" 

"I  would  if  there  were  not  some  things  that  can't  be 
reckoned  in  terms  of  dollars  and  cents.  If  I  take  stock 
in  the  American  Chemical  Company  I  am  a  party  to 
their  methods,  an  heir  to  their  frauds." 

"Isn't  fraud  a  rather  harsh  word,  Doctor?" 

"No.     It's  the  truth." 

Stuart  smiled  good-naturedly. 

"Yet  isn't  the  old  regime  of  the  small  manufacturer 
and  the  retailer  doomed?  Isn't  combination  the  new 
order  of  modern  life?  Will  it  pay  you  to  fight  a  losing 
battle?" 

"The  man  who  fights  for  the  right  can't  lose." 

"Unless  they  fight  trusts!"  Stuart  said  smilingly. 
"Bivens  is  not  a  man  of  broad  culture,  but  he  is  a 
very  smooth  young  gentleman " 

"He's  a  contemptible  little  scamp!"  snapped  the 
older  man.  "When  I  took  him  into  my  drug  store  six 
years  ago,  he  didn't  have  a  change  of  clothes.  Now 
he's  a  millionaire.  How  did  he  get  it?  He  stole  a 
formula  I  had  used  to  relieve  nervous  headaches,  mixed 
it  in  water  with  a  little  poisonous  colouring  matter, 
pushed  it  into  the  soda-fountain  trade,  made  his  first 
half-million,  organized  the  American  Chemical  Company 
and  blossomed  into  a  magnate.  And  now  this  little 


Things  Beyond  Price  17 

soda-fountain  pip  threatens  me  with  ruin  unless  I  join 
his  gang  and  help  him  rob  my  neighbours.  It  happens 
that  I  like  my  neighbours.  And  the  more  I  see  of  this 
city,  the  more  thrilling  its  life  becomes,  the  more  wonder 
ful  its  opportunities.  Opportunity  means  one  thing  to 
me  —  quite  another  to  Bivens.  The  world  he  lives  in  is 
a  small  one.  I  live  in  God's  big  world.  I  belong  to 
no  class.  I  know  them  all  from  the  lonely  multi 
millionaire  on  Murray  Hill  to  his  equally  lonely  brother 
thief  who  crawls  into  his  lair  by  the  river.  And  I  don't 
envy  one  more  than  another.  My  business  is  to  heal 
the  sick,  not  merely  to  make  money.  Thousands  of 
children  die  at  my  very  door  every  summer  who  could 
be  saved  by  a  single  prescription  if  they  could  get  it. 
That's  the  thought  that  grips  me  when  I  begin  to  figure 
the  profits  in  this  trade.  I'm  making  a  fair  living.  I 
don't  want  any  more  out  of  my  neighbours.  I've 
shown  you  some  of  them  to-night." 

"I'll  never  forget  them,"  Stuart  broke  in. 

"We  used  to  cry  over  Uncle  Tom's  woes,"  the  doctor 
continued.  "And  yet  there  are  more  than  five  million 
white  people  in  America  to-day  who  are  the  slaves 
of  poverty,  cruel  and  pitiless,  who  haven't  enough 
clothes  to  keep  warm,  enough  food  to  eat,  and  are 
utterly  helpless  and*  forsaken  in  illness.  The  black 
slave  always  had  food  and  shelter,  clothes  and  medicine. 
My  business  is  to  heal  the  sick  —  mind  you !  Shall  I 
give  it  up  to  exploit  them?" 

"But  could  you  not  use  your  greater  wealth  for  greater 
good  if  you  joined  the  trust?"  the  lawyer  asked. 

"No.  What  we  need  to-day  is  not  merely  more 
money  given  to  charity.  We  need  more  heart  and  soul, 
manhood  and  womanhood,  given  in  heroic  service. 
We  need  leaders  whose  voice  shall  rouse  the  conscience 
of  the  nation  that  Justice  shall  be  done."  . 


1 8  The  Root  of  Evil 

"But  the  point  is,  Doctor,  are  you  sure  that  you  are 
on  the  side  of  Justice  in  this  big  business  battle  that's 
now  on  between  competition  and  combination?"  asked 
the  younger  man,  quietly. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  that  your  building  over  there  has  an  honour 
able  history,  but  it's  old,  a  little  shabby,  and,  judged  by 
the  standards  of  the  new  steel  structures  of  the  Trust 
that  are  rising  over  the  city,  out-of-date.  Won't  they 
make  drugs  more  economically  than  you  do  and  drive 
you  to  the  wall  at  last?  Isn't  this  new  law  of  coopera 
tion  the  law  of  progress  —  in  brief,  the  law  of  God?" 

"That  remains  to  be  proven.     I  don't  believe  it." 

"Well,  I  do,  and  I  think  that  if  you  fight,  it  will  be 
against  the  stars  in  their  courses " 

"I'm  going  to  fight,"  was  the  firm  response. 

"And  you  wanted  my  advice,"  Stuart  laughed. 

The  doctor  smiled  at  his  own  inconsistency. 

"Well,  I  know  I'm  right,  and  I  wished  you  to  back 
me  up.  The  law  is  on  my  side,  isn't  it?" 

"The  written  law,  yes.  But  you  are  facing  a  bigger 
question  than  one  of  statutory  law." 

"So  I  am,  boy,  so  I  am!  That's  why  I  gave  you  a 
glimpse  to-night  of  the  world  in  which  I  live  and  work 
and  dream." 

"Bivens  has  put  up  to  you  a  cold-blooded  business 
proposition 

"Exactly.  And  there  are  things  that  can't  be  bought 
and  sold.  I  am  one  of  them!"  The  stalwart  figure 
rose  in  simple  dignity,  and  there  was  a  deep  tremor 
in  his  voice  as  he  paused. 

"But  I'm  keeping  you.  It's  nine  o'clock  —  and 
somebody's  waiting  —  eh,  boy?" 

"Yes,"  Stuart  answered  apologetically.  "I'm  afraid 
I've  not  been  of  much  use  to  you  to-night." 


Things  Beyond  Price  .19 

The  doctor  bent  closer,  smiling: 

"I  understand  —  of  course!  The  angels  are  singing 
in  your  heart  this  evening  the  old  song  of  life  that  always 
makes  the  world  new  and  young  and  beautiful.  Over 
all  ugliness  the  veil  of  the  mystery  of  Love!  The  only 
real  things  to-night  for  you  —  the  throb  of  triumph 
within  your  heart,  the  hovering  presence  of  a  woman's 
face,  the  tenderness  of  her  eyes,  the  tangled  lighten 
her  hair,  the  smile  on  her  lips,  the  thrill  of  her  voice, 
the  pride  of  her  step,  the  glory  of  her  form  - 

"Yes,"  Stuart  echoed  with  elation. 

"And  yet  — it  couldn't  be  measured  in  terms  of 
barter  and  sale  — could  it?"  The  doctor  gripped  his 
hand  tenderly  in  parting. 

The  smile  died  from  the  younger  man's  face  and  his 
answer  was  scarcely  audible: 

"No!" 


CHAPTER  III 

A    LOVERS'    QUARREL 

It  was  half  past  ten  before  Stuart  reached  Gramercy 
Park.  The  wind  had  shifted  to  the  southeast  and  a 
cold,  drizzling  rain  mixed  with  fog  enveloped  the  city. 
Somehow  the  chill  found  his  heart.  The  windows  of 
Nan's  room  were  dark.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  had  called  and  found  her  out.  He  rang  the  door 
bell  in  a  stupor  of  disappointment.  For  just  a  moment 
the  sense  of  disaster  was  so  complete  it  was  ridiculous. 

A  maid  answered  at  last  and  ushered  him  into  the 
dimly  lighted  parlour. 

"Miss  Nan  is  at  home,  Berta?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  little  Danish  maid  smiled  knowingly: 

"Na,  but  Meesis  Primrose  — 

With  a  groan  Stuart  sank  to  a  chair.  The  maid 
turned  up  the  lights  and  left  the  room.  He  looked 
about  with  astonishment.  Things  had  been  happen 
ing  with  a  vengeance  during  his  absence.  The  entire 
house  had  been  redecorated.  An  oriental  rug  of  daz 
zling  medallion  pattern  was  on  the  newly  polished  floor. 
Instead  of  the  set  of  Chippendale  mahogany  the  Prim 
roses  had  brought  from  the  South,  a  complete  outfit 
of  stately  gilded  stuff  filled  the  room,  and  heavy 
draperies  to  match  hung  from  the  tall  windows  and 
folding  doors. 

On  the  table  in  the  corner  stood  a  vase  filled  with 
gorgeous  red  roses.  The  air  was  heavy  with  their 
perfume.  It  made  him  sick.  The  mother's  velvet 

20 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  21 

hand  he  saw  at  once.  Of  course  she  had  not  borrowed 
the  money  from  Bivens.  She  was  too  shrewd  for  that. 
But  she  had  borrowed  it  beyond  a  doubt,  and  she  had 
evidently  gone  the  limit  of  her  credit  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  He  wondered  how  far  she  had  gotten 
with  Bivens.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Nan  was  with 
him  to-night?  No  —  preposterous!  He  heard  the 
rustle  of  Mrs.  Primrose's  dress  and  saw  the  smile  of 
treacherous  joy  slowly  working  into  position  on  her 
plausible  face  before  she  entered  the  room. 

She  greeted  him  with  unusual  effusion: 

"Oh,  Jim,  this  is  such  a  glorious  surprise!  Nan 
didn't  expect  you  till  morning  and  she  will  be  heart 
broken  to  have  missed  you  even  for  a  half  hour.  My 
dear,  dear  boy,  you  have  no  idea  how  lonely  both  of  us 
have  been  without  you  the  past  two  weeks." 

"You  missed  me  too,  Mrs.  Primrose?" 

"Of  course,  I  missed  you,  Jim!  You've  come  to 
be  like  one  of  us." 

She  leaned  close  and  purred  the  last  sentence  in  the 
softest  feline  accents.  Stuart  felt  his  nerves  quiver 
as  the  imaginary  claws  sank  into  his  flesh,  but  he  smiled 
back  his  grateful  answer. 

"It's  so  nice  of  you  to  say  that." 

"What's  more  natural?  You  know  I've  always 
loved  you  next  to  Nan." 

She  spoke  with  such  fervour  that  Stuart  shivered. 
It  was  sinister.  She  evidently  felt  sure  of  his  ruin.  He 
was  too  much  dazed  to  find  a  reply,  and  she  went  on 
earnestly: 

"We  needed  you  here  so  much  to  help  us  fix  up. 
We've  had  the  good  luck  to  rent  our  second  floor  to 
a  young  millionaire " 

"Mr.  Bivens,  yes ': 

"Why,  how  did  you  know?"  she  asked  with  a  start. 


22  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Dr.  Woodman  has  just  received  an  important 
letter  from  him  dated  here,  and  he  asked  my  advice 
about  it." 

"Oh " 

"Where's  Nan?"  Stuart  asked,  with  sudden  anger 
in  spite  of  his  effort  to  keep  cool. 

"Why,  she's  giving  a  little  box  party  at  the  theatre 
to-night  - 

"And  our  mutual  friend,  Mr.  John  C.  Calhoun 
Bivens,  is  presiding?" 

"Why,  Jim,  how  could  you  be  so  absurd,"  she  pro 
tested  indignantly.  "I've  been  saving  money  for  a 
month  to  give  Nan  this  chance  to  return  some  courte 
sies  she  has  received  from  rich  friends.  I  need  Mr. 
Bivens's  money  to  pay  the  rent  of  this  big  house.  But 
any  attention  on  his  part  to  Nan  would  be  disgusting 
to  me  beyond  measure." 

"Yet  he's  the  sensation  in  high  finance  just  now," 
Stuart  said,  with  an  unconscious  sneer.  "They  say 
he's  destined  to  become  a  multi-millionaire." 

"Come,  come,  Jim,  it's  not  like  you  to  be  nasty  to 
me.  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  his  origin  in  North 
Carolina.  His  people  are  the  veriest  trash.  He  was 
at  college  with  you  - 

"And  how  did  you  know  that?" 

"Not  from  you,  of  course.  You've  never  mentioned 
his  name  in  your  life.  He  told  me." 

"Oh,  Bivens  told  you!" 

"Yes,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  you  he  told  me 
with  a  touch  of  genuine  pride  that  you  were  friends. 
He  thinks  you  are  going  to  be  the  greatest  lawyer 
in  New  York.  And  I  told  him  we'd  known  that  for 
a  long  time." 

Stuart  turned  his  head  to  hide  a  smile. 

"But  of  course  he's  not  in  Nan's  social  set.     I  told 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  23 

her  the  day  he  came  that  we  would  treat  him  politely 
but  draw  the  line  strictly  on  any  efforts  he  may  make 
to  pass  the  limits  of  acquaintance.  The  men  who 
associate  with  Nan  must  belong  to  her  father's  world  — 
to  your  world,  Jim  —  the  world  of  good  breeding  and 
culture.  I've  dinned  this  into  Nan's  ears  from  baby 
hood.  You  know  yourself  it  was  the  greatest  joy 
of  my  life  the  day  she  told  me  of  your  love." 

By  a  supreme  effort  Stuart  suppressed  a  laugh  and 
answered  seriously: 

"Your  approval  has  always  been  an  inspiration  to 
me,  Mrs.  Primrose.  I  hope  to  prove  myself  worthy 
of  it." 

A  carriage  stopped  at  the  door. 

"There's  Nan  now!"  the  mother  exclaimed,  rising 
to  go.  "I'll  leave  you  to  surprise  her,  Jim." 

Stuart  heard  the  carriage  door  slam,  and  in  a  moment 
the  girl  he  loved  stood  in  the  hall,  the  joy  of  an  even 
ing's  perfect  happiness  shining  in  her  great  dark  eyes. 
He  watched  her  a  moment,  unobserved,  as  she  laid 
aside  her  opera  cloak  and  stood  before  the  big  mirror 
proudly  and  calmly  surveying  her  figure. 

Never  had  her  beauty  seemed  to  him  so  dazzling. 
The  cream-coloured  evening  gown  fitted  her  to  per 
fection.  She  lifted  her  bare  arms  and  touched  an  old 
silver  brooch  that  gleamed  in  the  mass  of  black  hair, 
and  smiled  at  the  picture  she  saw  reflected.  The  smile 
was  one  of  conscious  power.  The  corners  of  the  full 
sensuous  lips  curved  the  slightest  bit  as  the  smile  faded 
and  a  gleam  of  something  like  cruelty  flashed  from 
the  depths  of  her  eyes,  as  her  head  lifted.  She  turned 
sidewise  to  catch  the  full  effect  of  the  shining  bare  neck 
and  shoulders,  and  stood  an  instant  with  her  beautiful 
bosom  rising  and  falling  with  conscious  pride. 

Stuart,  unable  to  wait  longer,  was  about  to  spring 


24  The  Root  of  Evil 

to  her  side  when  she  caught  the  flash  of  his  laughing 
face  in  the  mirror  and  turned. 

"Oh!  you  rascal!  To  surprise  me  like  this!"  she 
cried,  with  joyous  laughter. 

"In  all  your  pride  and  vanity!" 

"Well,  need  I  apologize  to-night,  sir?"  she  asked, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  beautiful  shoulders. 

"No.     You're   glorious.     I   don't  blame  you." 

She  seized  both  his  hands,  still  laughing. 

"You  know  how  it  is  yourself?  You  do  the  same 
thing  when  your  door  is  locked  —  now  don't  you?" 

"Of  course." 

"You  can't  help  being  a  little  vain,  Jim,  any  more 
than  I  can.  You  know  you're  a  stunning-looking 
fellow.  These  Yankee  girls  all  love  you  at  first  sight  - 
the  tall,  straight,  sinewy  figure,  strong  and  swift  in 
every  movement,  the  finely  chiselled  face,  the  deep- 
set,  dark  brown  eyes  under  their  heavy  brows,  that 
big  masterful  jaw  and  firm  mouth " 

Stuart  suddenly  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
into  silence. 

"Hush,  Nan.    I  don't  like  the  way  you  say  that!" 

"Why?    Am  I  too  modest?" 

"No,  too  deliberate  and  coldly  mistress  of  yourself. 
I  wish  you  loved  me  a  little  more  tumultuously,  as  I 
do  you." 

"Well,  let  me  whisper  then  that  your  return  to 
night  has  made  a  perfect  ending  to  a  perfect  day.  Oh, 
Jim,  I've  been  so  happy  to-night!  Seated  in  that 
big  stage  box,  I  felt  that  I  was  somebody.  This  is 
the  first  really  decent  dress  I've  ever  had  in  my  life." 

"You  were  just  as  beautiful  in  that  blue  cotton 
one,  the  day  I  first  kissed  you,  Nan." 

"I  know  you  thought  so,  Jim.  But  the  world 
wouldn't  have  said  it " 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  25 

"And  to-night?" 

"They  agreed  with  you.  I  could  see  it  in  the  craning 
necks,  the  glances,  the  whispered  comments,  and  the 
stare  of  mannerless  men." 

"And  you  were  proud  and  happy!" 

"Proud  for  your  sake,  Jim,  —  yes  —  and  happy 
in  your  love." 

Stuart's  face  clouded  and  he  turned  away,  startled 
for  the  first  time  by  a  strange  similarity  in  the  tone 
of  Nan's  voice  to  her  mother's. 

The  painful  impression  was  suddenly  broken  by  a 
quick  touch  of  Nan's  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I'm  glad  you  came  a  day  earlier.  I've 
something  to  tell  you,  something  wonderful  —  some 
thing  that  will  bring  our  happiness  near "  Her 

voice  sank  to  the  tenderest  accents. 

"What  on  earth " 

"You  know  Mr.  Bivens  —  John  C.  Calhoun  Bivens?" 

"Yes,"  Stuart  answered  evenly,  controlling  himself 
with  an  effort. 

"Well,  he  has  taken  our  second  floor.  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  him  last  week." 

"Indeed!" 

"But  of  course,  goosie,  it  was  business  —  all  busi 
ness.  By  the  merest  accident  I  learned  that  his  big 
Trust,  the  American  Chemical  Company,  needs  another 
lawyer.  They  pay  an  enormous  salary  with  all  sorts 
of  chances  to  get  rich.  They  are  making  millions  on 
millions.  I  told  him  that  you  were  the  very  man  for 
the  place  and  that  you  were  going  to  be  the  greatest 
lawyer  in  New  York.  Imagine  my  joy  —  when  he 
not  only  agreed  with  me,  but  said  he  would  double 
the  salary  if  you  would  accept  it.  He  thought  you 
wouldn't,  merely  because  you  lived  in  the  house  of 
old  Woodman  with  whom  the  Company  may  have 


26  The  Root  of  Evil 

a  fight.  I  told  him  it  was  nonsense  —  that  I  knew 
you  would  accept.  Of  course,  Jim,  dear,  I  couldn't 
tell  him  why  —  I  couldn't  tell  him  what  it  meant  to 
me,  though  I  felt  like  screaming  it  in  his  face.  You'll 
accept,  of  course?" 

"Emphatically  no!" 

"You  can't  be  so  absurd!" 

"Yes  I  can." 

"Why?" 

Stuart  looked  away  in  moody  silence. 

"Have  you  been  receiving  the  attentions  of  this 
distinguished  young  millionaire,  Nan?" 

"I've  been  cultivating  him." 

"Cultivating?" 

"Yes,  for  your  sake  only  —  you  big,  handsome, 
foolish,  jealous  boy!  You  can't  be  in  earnest  when 
you  say  that  you  will  refuse  such  an  offer?" 

"I  am  in  earnest,"  was  the  grim  reply. 

"But  why,  why  — why?" 

"First,  because  I  will  not  become  the  hireling  of 
a  corporation,  to  say  nothing  of  this  particular  one 
headed  by  Mr.  Bivens." 

"Nonsense,  Jim.  You  wouldn't  be  a  hireling.  You 
would  lay  the  law  down  for  them  to  follow." 

"No.  A  modern  corporation  has  no  soul,  and  the 
man  who  serves  this  master  must  sell  both  body  and 
soul  for  the  wages  he  receives.  I  am  a  lawyer  of  the 
old  school.  My  work  is  illumined  by  imagination. 
My  business  is  to  enforce  justice  in  the  relations  of 
men." 

"But  some  of  the  greatest  lawyers  in  America  are 
corporation  attorneys " 

"All  the  reason  more  why  I  should  keep  clean. 
Lawyers  once  constituted  our  aristocracy  of  brain 
and  culture." 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  27 

"But,  Jim,  you  could  prevent  injustice  by  your 
will  and  ability!" 

"Nonsense,  Nan.  It's  the  kind  of  work  you  have 
to  do.  The  very  nature  of  it  excludes  an  ideal.  Its 
only  standard  is  gold  —  hard,  ringing  metallic  gold! 
I  can't  prostitute  my  talents  to  a  work  I  don't  believe 
in.  A  man's  work  is  a  revelation  of  what  he  is.  And 
what  he  is  will  depend  at  last  on  what  he  does." 

A  frown  of  impatience  had  steadily  grown  in  the 
girl's  face  and  the  curves  of  her  lips  hardened  with 
sudden  determination. 

"But  you  mean  to  be  rich  and  powerful,  Jim?" 

"If  it  comes  with  the  growth  of  manhood  and  char 
acter,  yes.  But  I  will  not  degrade  myself  with  work 
I  hate,  or  take  orders  from  men  I  despise.  The  world 
is  already  full  of  such  slaves.  I  mean  to  make  one 
less,  not  one  more  of  them." 

"You  know  I  don't  wish  you  to  be  degraded,"  Nan 
broke  in,  earnestly.  "I  want  you  to  be  great." 

"Then,  don't  forget,  sweetheart,  that  it's  the  great 
man  who  can  be  content  now  with  a  fair  share  of  money. 
It  requires  more  stamina,  more  character,  more  man 
hood  to  live  a  sane,  decent  life  in  this  town  to-day  than 
it  does  to  become  a  millionaire." 

"But  I  want  you  to  be  ambitious,  Jim!"  the  girl 
exclaimed,  passionately. 

"I  am  ambitious  —  for  big  things  —  the  biggest 
things.  For  that  reason  it  will  take  more  than  a 
child's  rattle  to  satisfy  me,  though  it's  made  of  gold. 
I  must  have  the  real  thing  —  the  thing  inside.  I  hope 
to  have  the  applause  of  the  world,  but  the  thing  I 
must  have  is  the  approval  of  my  better  self  —  can't 
you  understand,  Nan?" 

Stuart  paused  and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  girl's 
white  round  arm,  and  she  turned  with  a  start. 


28  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  didn't  hear  your  last  sentence,  Jim " 

"Of  what  were  you  thinking?" 

"Of  what  a  woman  is  always  thinking.  Consciously 
or  unconsciously,  of  my  home  —  whether  it  shall  be 
a  hovel  or  a  palace." 

"It  all  depends  on  whether  Love  is  the  builder " 

"It  all  depends  on  the  man  I  marry,"  was  the  laugh 
ing  answer.  "I've  always  dreamed  of  you  as  a  man 
of  wealth  and  power.  Your  splendid  talents  mean 
this.  When  you  came  to  New  York  I  was  more  sure 
of  you  than  ever.  You've  simply  got  to  make  money, 
Jim!  Nothing  else  counts  in  the  world  to-day.  I 
hate  poverty  —  I  fear  it  — I  loathe  it!  Money  is 
the  badge  of  success,  the  symbol  of  power.  Nothing 
else  counts." 

"And  yet,"  the  lover  said,  drawing  closer,  "I  hold 
the  touch  of  your  little  finger  of  greater  value  than 
all  the  gold  on  the  earth  or  beneath  it. " 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  please,  with  irrelevant  remarks," 
Nan  cried,  laughing  in  spite  of  herself.  "Seriously, 
Jim  —  you  must  listen  to  me.  I'm  in  dead  earnest. 
There's  no  virtue  in  riding  behind  a  donkey  if  you  can 
own  a  carriage.  There  can  be  no  virtue  in  shivering 
in  a  thin  dress  if  you  can  wear  furs.  Even  the  saints 
all  dream  of  a  Heaven  with  streets  of  gold,  chariots 
to  ride  in,  and  gleaming  banquet  halls!  I'm  just  a 
practical  saint,  Jim.  I  want  mine  here  and  now.  You 
must  have  money,  if  for  no  other  reason,  because  I 
wish  it!" 

"Even  if  I  enter  a  career  of  crime  with  Bivens  as 
my  master?" 

"Come!  Mr.  Bivens  is  a  devout  member  of  the 
church.  And  you  know  that  he's  in  dead  earnest " 

"About  get  ting  to  Heaven?  Of  course.  That's  sim 
ply  his  insurance  policy  against  fire  in  the  next  world." 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  29 

"Oh,  don't  talk  nonsense,  Jim.  The  possession  of 
money  is  not  a  crime." 

"No.  Crime,  Nan,  is  in  the  heart,  and  its  seed 
always  springs  from  the  soul.  Its  roots  must  always 
strike  one  soil  to  live  —  the  selfish  will  to  have  what  one 
wants  regardless  of  the  cost  to  others" 

"Is  it  a  crime,"  Nan  asked,  passionately,  "to  wish 
to  live  a  life  that's  worth  the  struggle  ?  You  must 
take  conditions  as  you  find  them." 

"  That's  just  it.  I  won't.  I'd  rather  create  new 
conditions  and  mould  life.  I'd  rather  lead,  organize  and 
inspire,  than  follow.  I  refuse  to  become  a  mere  money- 
grubber,  because  I'm  in  love  with  Life." 

"And  you  would  be  willing,"  the  girl  said  dreamily, 
"to  sacrifice  the  happiness  of  all  those  you  love  and  all 
who  love  you  to  follow  this  whim?" 

"Sacrifice  your  happiness?  Why,  the  one  purpose 
of  my  life  is  to  make  you  happy " 

"Well,  I  can't  be  happy  in  poverty.  The  man  I 
love  must  be  rich.  Oh,  Jim,  you  shall  be!  Wealth 
is  the  only  road  now  from  the  vulgar  crowd  —  the 
only  way  to  climb  on  top." 

"But,  suppose  I  don't  wish  to  climb  on  the  top  of 
people?" 

"You  can't  be  such  a  fool!" 

"But  suppose  I  am?  Money  is  the  most  obvious 
sign  of  success  in  a  new  crude  world.  Ours  is  no 
longer  new,  no  longer  crude  or  isolated.  True  civil 
ization  has  always  placed  manhood  above  money. 
The  only  names  in  our  history  worth  remembering  - 
are  there,  because  they  did  something  else  than  make 
money.  Washington  was  the  richest  man  in  America 
in  his  day.  But  nobody  remembers  this  —  why? 
Because  it  is  of  no  importance.  The  men  you  call 
great  would  simply  reduce  life  to  the  terms  of  a  commer- 


30  The  Root  of  Evil 

cial  dividend.  Yet  nothing  pays  that's  really  worth 
while." 

"Jim,  are  you  crazy?" 

"It's  true,  dear.  The  lover  who  watches  by  the 
side  of  a  stricken  loved  one  and  loses  time  and  money 
—  is  he  crazy?  My  father  gave  up  his  law  practice 
to  bend  over  my  mother's  bedside  for  six  months. 
He  was  a  giant  in  mind  and  body  —  she  a  poor  little, 
broken,  withered  invalid.  He  lost  money  and  clients 
and  never  regained  them.  Did  it  pay?  Does  any 
thing  that's  born  of  love  pay?  Surely  not  children. 
I  was  always  a  dead  expense.  The  biggest  fee  I  ever 
received  as  a  lawyer  in  New  York  was  a  shout  of  joy 
from  a  poor  woman,  whose  boy  I  freed  from  a  false 
charge  of  crime.  She  fell  sobbing  before  me  and  actually 
kissed  my  feet." 

"  Oh;  Jim,  why  can't  you  be  practical?  Why  are  you 
not  willing  to  fight  for  a  fortune  —  as  other  men " 

"Because,  dear,"  he  answered  quickly  and  tenderly, 
"we  haven't  time  —  you  and  I.  Life  is  too  short. 
Love  is  too  sweet.  The  fields  are  too  green.  The 
birds  sing  too  sweetly.  The  treasures  of  earth  are 
already  mine,  for  Love  has  given  me  eyes  to  see,  ears 
to  hear,  and  a  heart  to  feel.  Perhaps  I'm  just  a  little 
crazy  by  the  standard  of  New  York,  but,  dear,  I  thought 
you  were  my  mate!  Have  you  forgotten  our  old 
day  dreams  in  the  fields  at  home?  " 

"I've  forgotten  everything,"  she  answered  bitterly, 
"except  that  you  are  failing  me  when  put  to  the  first 
test.  And  it  wouldj)e  such  a  little  thing  for  you  to  do." 

"At  the  price  of  my  self-respect  —  and  you  call 
this  a  little  thing  —  great  God!" 

Nan  rose  with  a  sudden  gesture  of  impatience. 

"You  refuse  absolutely  to  consider  this  generous 
offer?" 


A  Lovers'  Quarrel  31 

"  Absolutely." 

"  And  you  are  not  willing  to  let  these  romantic  fancies 
wait  until  you've  made  your  fortune?  " 

The  girl  spoke  with  cold  deliberation. 

'  'How  can  I  wait  to  live  ?  I'm  twenty-six.  I'll  never 
have  those  glorious  days  of  my  young  manhood  again. 
My  ears  will  never  be  so  keen  again  or  eyes  so  clear 
again.  What  is  the  use  of  years  of  preparation  to  live, 
if  at  last  you  don't  know  how  ?" 

"And  you  are  willing  that  the  woman  you  love  shall 
live  in  poverty  while  her  more  fortunate  sisters  laugh 
and  dance  in  luxury  ?" 

"The  one  joy  of  my  life  will  be  to  gratify  every  reason 
able  wish  of  your  body  and  soul." 

"Yet  the  first  reasonable  wish  I  express,  you  refuse 
to  consider." 

"It  would  be  suicide " 

"Oh,  Jim,  don't  talk  like  a  fool!  Mr.  Bivens  says 
he  would  make  you  a  millionaire  in  five  years." 

The  blood  suddenly  rushed  to  Stuart's  face,  and  the 
square  jaws  came  together  with  a  snap. 

"  That's  very  kind  of  Mr.  Bivens,  I'm  sure.  When 
I  need  his  patronage,  I'll  take  my  place  in  line  with 
other  henchmen  and  ask  for  it.  At  present  I'm  pad 
dling  my  own  canoe." 

Nan  suddenly  extended  her  hand. 

"Good-night." 

He  attempted  to  draw  her  into  his  arms. 

"Not  like  that,  Nan." 

She  repulsed  him  and  repeated  her  cold  dismissal: 

"  Good-night." 

"Nan,  dear,"  he  pleaded,  " we've  never  parted  in 
anger  before.  Of  all  the  hours  of  my  life  this  is  one 
in  which  I  —  I  —  least  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. " 

Without  a  word,  she  turned  toward  the  stairs. 


32  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Nan!"  he  called  tenderly. 

The  proud  white  figure  slowly  mounted  the  first 
step.  He  seized  his  hat  and  coat  and  grasped  the  door, 
fumbling  at  the  knob  in  rage. 

A  dress  rustled  and  he  turned,  confronting  Nan. 
Her  face  was  scarlet  and  two  tears  were  creeping  down 
her  cheeks.  With  a  sob  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms. 

" Forgive  me,  Jim!" 

"Forgive  me,  dear,  if  I've  seemed  unreasonable," 
was  the  low  answer. 

"But  you  will  think  it  over,  won't  you?  just  for 
my  sake  —  just  because  I  ask  it  —  won't  you?" 

"Just  because  you  ask  it  —  yes,  I  will,  dearest!" 

He  kissed  her  tenderly  and  walked  home  with  a 
great  sickening  fear  slowly  creeping  into  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MR.    BIVENS    CALLS 

Stuart  waked  next  morning  with  a  sense  of  hopeless 
depression.  He  had  intended  to  make  an  engagement 
with  Nan  to  visit  the  little  home.  It  was  impossible 
to  suggest  it  in  the  mood  he  had  found  her.  What 
strange  madness  had  come  over  the  woman  he  loved? 
They  had  never  discussed  money  before.  Bivens  was 
the  only  explanation. 

He  dressed  himself  mechanically  and  went  down 
stairs.  A  letter  was  on  the  hall  rack  which  had  been 
sent  by  a  messenger.  He  broke  the  seal  with  nervous 
haste.  It  was  from  Bivens  asking  him  to  call  his 
office  telephone  at  eleven  o'clock. 

He  tore  the  note  into  tiny  pieces,  stepped  into  the 
parlour  and  threw  them  into  the  grate.  He  stood 
for  a  moment  gazing  into  the  glowing  coals  in  brooding 
anger.  Slowly  he  became  conscious  of  music.  Some 
one  was  playing  an  old-fashioned  Southern  melody, 
and  the  tenderest  voice  accompanied  the  piano.  He 
walked  to  the  door  of  the  music-room. 

It  was  Harriet. 

As  he  listened,  the  frown  died  from  his  face  and  the 
anger  melted  out  from  his  heart.  The  music  ceased, 
Harriet  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I  didn't  know  you  were  there!" 

"It  was  beautiful,  little  pal." 

"Yes,  I  knew  you'd  like  that  piece.  I  heard  you 
humming  it  one  day.  That's  why  I  got  it." 

33 


34  The  Root  of  Evil 

"What  a  sweet  voice  you  have,  child,  so  clear,  so 
deep  and  rich  and  full  of  feeling.  I  didn't  know  you 
could  sing." 

"I  didn't  either  until  I  tried." 

"You  must  study  music,"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm. 

The  girl  clapped  her  hands  and  leaped  to  her  feet, 
exclaiming : 

"Will  you  be  proud  of  me,  Jim,  if  I  can  sing?" 

"Indeed  I  will,"  was  the  earnest  answer. 

The  laughing  eyes  grew  serious  as  she  slowly  said: 

"Then,  I'll  do  my  level  best.     I'm  off  —  good-bye." 

With  a  wave  of  her  hand  she  was  gone,  and  Stuart 
hurried  to  his  office,  whistling  the  old  tune  she  had 
just  sung. 

What  curious,  sensitive  things  —  these  souls  of  ours! 
An  idea  enters  and  blackens  the  sky,  makes  sick  the 
body,  kills  hope  and  faith.  The  soft  strains  of  an  old 
piece  of  music  steals  into  the  darkened  spirit,  the 
shadows  lift,  the  sun  shines,  the  heart  beats  with  life 
and  the  world  is  new  again. 

On  reaching  his  office  on  lower  Broadway,  Stuart 
rang  Bivens's  telephone,  and  the  president  of  the 
American  Chemical  Company  made  an  engagement 
to  call  at  once. 

Stuart  would  not  have  stooped  to  the  trick  of  keeping 
his  young  millionaire  visitor  waiting,  on  imaginary 
business,  but  he  was  grateful  for  the  timely  call  of  a 
client  who  kept  him  in  consultation  for  fifteen  minutes 
while  Bivens  patiently  waited  his  turn  in  the  reception- 
room,  his  wealth  and  prestige  all  lost  on  the  imper 
turbable  office  boy,  who  sat  silently  chewing  gum  and 
reading  a  serial. 

The  first  view  of  Bivens  was  always  unimpressive. 
He  was  short,  thin,  and  looked  almost  frail  at  first 
glance.  A  second  look  gave  the  impression  of  wiry 


Mr.  Bivens  Calls  35 

reserve  force  in  his  compact  frame.  His  hair  was  jet 
black  and  thinning  slightly  on  top  which  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  much  greater  age  than  he  could  really 
claim.  His  thin  features  were  regular,  and  his  face 
was  covered  with  a  thick  black  beard  which  he  kept 
trimmed  to  a  keen  point  on  the  chin.  His  most  striking 
features  were  a  high  massive  forehead,  abnormally  long 
for  the  size  of  his  body,  and  a  pair  of  piercing,  bead- 
like  black  eyes.  These  eyes  were  seldom  still,  but 
when  they  rested  on  an  object  they  fairly  bored  through 
it  with  their  penetrating  light. 

He  rarely  spoke  except  to  a  purpose,  and  his  manners 
were  quiet,  almost  furtive.  He  had  thus  early  in  his 
career  gained  a  nickname  that  was  peculiarly  sig 
nificant  in  Wall  Street.  He  was  known  as  The  Weasel. 

His  whole  makeup,  physical  and  mental,  was  curiously 
complex  —  a  mixture  of  sobriety  and  greed,  piety  and 
cruelty,  tenderness  and  indomitable  will,  simplicity 
of  tastes  with  boundless  ambition. 

His  friendship  for  Stuart  and  his  deference  to  him 
personally  and  socially  dated  from  their  boyhood  in 
North  Carolina  —  and  particularly  from  an  incident 
which  occurred  in  their  college  days.  Bivens's  father 
had  been  a  notorious  coward  in  the  Confederate  army 
and  had  at  last  deserted  the  service.  A  number  of 
very  funny  stories  about  his  actions  in  battle  had 
become  current  everywhere.  On  Bivens's  arrival  at 
college,  a  particularly  green  freshman,  Stuart  had  dis 
covered  a  group  of  his  classmates  hazing  him.  They 
had  forced  the  coward's  son  to  mount  a  box  and  repeat 
to  the  crowd  the  funny  stories  about  the  " valour" 
of  his  father.  The  boy,  scared  half  out  of  his  wits, 
stood  stammering  and  perspiring  and  choking  with 
shame  as  he  tried  to  obey  his  tormentors. 

Stuart  protested  vigorously,  and  a  fight  ensued  in 


36  The  Root  of  Evil 

which  he  was  compelled  to  thrash  the  ring-leader  and 
rescue  the  victim  by  force  of  arms.  From  that  day 
Stuart  was  Bivens 's  beau -ideal  of  a  gentleman.  He 
had  tolerated  rather  than  enjoyed  this  friendship,  but 
it  was  so  genuine  he  couldn't  ignore  the  little  dark- 
eyed  taciturn  fellow  who  was  destined  to  play  so  tre 
mendous  a  role  in  his  future  life. 

Bivens  sat  patiently  waiting  for  the  young  lawyer, 
his  black  eyes  gazing  dreamily  over  the  roofs  of  the 
houses.  He  was  smoking  a  huge  black  cigar.  He 
was  always  smoking.  The  brighter  his  eyes  gleamed 
the  harder  he  smoked  until  the  fire-tipped  tobacco 
seemed  a  spark  from  smouldering  volcanoes  somewhere 
below.  The  one  overwhelming  impression  which 
Bivens's  personality  first  gave  was  that  he  was  made 
out  of  tobacco.  His  fingers  were  stained  with  nicotine, 
and  his  teeth  yellow  from  it.  He  had  smoked  so  fast 
and  furiously  the  room  was  soon  fog-bound.  The 
boy  looked  up  from  his  paper  with  a  gasp  and  hastened 
inside  to  see  if  he  could  get  rid  of  his  obnoxious  presence. 
In  a  moment  he  ushered  out  the  client  and  showed 
Bivens  into  the  office. 

He  shook  hands  quietly  and  took  a  seat  beside 
Stuart's  desk. 

"Well?"  said  the  lawyer  at  length. 

"I've  come  to  make  you  an  important  proposition, 
Jim,"  Bivens  began  slowly,  while  his  restless  eyes 
looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  and  he  pulled  at  the  point 
of  his  beard.  "We  need  another  attorney.  The 
business  of  the  company  is  increasing  so  rapidly  our 
force  can't  handle  it.  I  need  a  big  man  close  to  me. 
If  you'll  take  the  place  I'll  give  you  a  salary  that  will 
ultimately  be  as  big  as  the  President  gets  in  the  White 
House.  Twenty  thousand  to  start  with." 

Stuart  looked  at  his  visitor  curiously. 


Mr.  Bivens  Calls  37 

"Why  do  you  want  me,  Cal?  There  are  thousands 
of  lawyers  here  who  would  jump  at  the  chance.  Many 
of  them  are  better  equipped  for  such  work  than  I 
am." 

"Because  I  know  that  you  won't  lie  to  me,  you  won't 
swindle  or  take  advantage  of  me 

"Why  not?"  Stuart  asked  with  a  smile.  "Isn't 
that  the  game?  Why  shouldn't  I  learn  the  tricks?" 

"Because  it's  not  in  you." 

"I  see.  You  want  to  capitalize  my  character  and 
use  me  to  ambush  the  other  fellow?" 

"That's  one  way  to  look  at  it  —  yes." 

"But  that's  not  the  real  reason  you  come  to  me 
to-day  with  this  proposition  —  is  it?" 

"Not  the  only  one.  You  know  my  friendship  for 
you  is  genuine.  You  know  there's  not  a  man  in  New 
York  for  whom  I'd  do  as  much  as  I  will  for  you  if 
you'll  let  me.  Isn't  that  true?" 

"I  believe  it  —  yes.  And  yet  —  there  must  be 
another  reason.  What  is  it?" 

"Does  it  matter?  I've  made  you  the  offer.  If 
the  salary  isn't  enough,  name  your  figure." 

"You're  not  afraid  of  Woodman  and  wish  to 
reach  him  through  me?"  Stuart  continued,  ignoring 
his  last  answer. 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  flitted  around  the  shining  little 
black  eyes. 

"Afraid?"  he  asked  contemptuously.  "I'm  not 
even  interested  in  him.  The  old  fossil's  a  joke.  He 
thinks  he  can  stop  the  progress  of  the  world  to  attend 
a  case  of  measles  in  Mott  Street." 

The  financier  leisurely  lifted  his  right  hand,  removed 
the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  struck  the  ashes  lightly 
with  his  finger.  Stuart  noticed  how  small  his  hand, 
how  delicately  shaped,  how  smooth  and  careful  its 


38  The  Root  of  Evil 

movements.  Beyond  a  doubt  it  was  the  hand  of  an 
expert  thief.  And  yet  this  man,  by  an  accident  of 
birth,  was  a  devout  member  of  the  church  and  complied 
with  the  written  laws  of  modern  society. 

Stuart  was  silent  a  moment,  watching  the  dark 
masked  face  before  him.  At  last  he  blurted  out: 

"Well,  Cal,  what's  the  real  reason  you  make  me 
this  offer  to-day?" 

Bivens  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  fidgeted,  hesi 
tated  and  finally  leaned  close,  speaking  in  a  whisper: 

"You  can  keep  a  little  secret?" 

"You  ought  to  know  that  before  making  me  such 
an  offer." 

"Yes.  Yes,  of  course  I  know  you  will."  Bivens 
paused  and  resumed  his  cigar.  "The  fact,  is  —  Jim  — 
I'm  in  love  - 

Stuart  cleared  his  throat  to  strangle  an  exclamation. 

"In  love?"  he  echoed  in  a  tone  of  light  banter. 

"Hopelessly,  desperately  in  love!  " 

"Then  you  need  a  minister,  not  a  lawyer,"  Stuart 
said,  with  quiet  sarcasm. 

"It's  no  joke,  old  man,"  Bivens  went  on  soberly. 
"It's  the  most  serious  thing  I  was  ever  up  against.  Fell 
in  love  at  first  sight." 

"But  where  do  I  come  into  this  affair?"  Stuart 
interrupted,  maintaining  his  self-control  with  an  effort. 

"Simple  enough.     The  Primroses 

"Oh,  it's  Miss  Primrose?" 

"Yes  —  Miss  Nan.  You  see,  they  think  the  world 
of  you.  She  said  you  grew  up  together  in  the  same 
town.  I  was  telling  her  about  my  business.  I  must 
have  been  bragging  about  what  we  were  going  to  do. 
I  was  crazy,  just  looking  at  her.  Her  beauty  made 
me  drunk.  I  told  her  we  needed  a  new  attorney. 
She  said  you  were  the  man.  I  told  her  I'd  offer  you 


Mr.  Bivens  Calls  39 

the  place.  She  seemed  pleased.  When  I  told  her 
I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't  take  a  place  under  my  direc 
tion,  she  laughed  at  the  idea  —  said  she  knew  you 
would  accept.  And  so  you've  got  the  whole  truth 
now,  Jim.  You've  got  to  accept,  old  man.  I  want 
to  make  her  feel  that  her  word  is  law  with  me. 
Don't  you  think  that  would  please  her?" 

"It  ought  to  please  any  woman,"  was  the  slow, 
thoughtful  reply. 

"Tell  me,  do  you  think  I've  got  a  chance  with  a 
girl  like  that?  You  know  I've  never  gone  with  girls 
much.  I'm  timid  and  awkward.  I  don't  know  what 
to  do  or  what  to  say.  But  my  money  will  help,  won't 
it?" 

"Money  always  helps  in  this  town,  Cal." 

"And  it  means  so  much  to  a  woman  too,  —  don't 
it?" 

"Yes.     Have  you  said  anything  to  Miss  Nan  yet?" 

"Lord,  no!  Haven't  dared.  Just  get  drunk  look 
ing  at  her  every  time  I  see  her,  but  I  couldn't  open 
my  mouth  if  I  tried.  I  'm  kinder  shying  up  to  the  old 
lady  to  get  her  on  my  side.  She  seems  awfully  friendly. 
I  think  she  likes  me.  Don't  you  think  it  a  good  plan 
to  cultivate  her?" 

"By  all  means,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

"Say,  for  God's  sake,  Jim,  help  me.  Take  this 
attorneyship.  It  will  please  her  and  I'll  make  you 
rich.  Come  in  with  me  and  you'll  never  regret  it. 
I  know  my  folks  were  not  your  social  equals  in  the  old 
days  down  South.  But  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
money  talks  here.  Have  common  sense.  Look  at 
things  as  they  are.  Come  in  with  me  and  let's  get 
at  these  Yankees.  They  left  you  and  me  cradles  of 
poverty.  They  owe  us  something.  Come  in  with 
me  and  we'll  get  it!" 


40  The  Root  of  Evil 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of  Bivens's 
feelings.  Stuart  knew  that  he  felt  deeply  and  sincerely 
every  word  that  he  uttered.  The  first  rush  of  his 
anger  had  died  away  and  he  begun  to  realize  the  pathos 
of  the  little  man's  appeal.  He  forgot  for  the  moment 
that  he  was  a  millionaire  and  had  made  his  money  by 
devious  tricks  with  that  smooth,  delicately  moulded 
hand.  He  only  saw  that  Bivens,  his  old  schoolmate, 
had  unconsciously  fallen  into  a  trap.  A  word  from 
him  —  the  word  he  wished  spoken,  and  the  woman 
he  loved  would  be  lost.  He  had  but  to  speak  that  word, 
accept  the  generous  offer  made  in  good  faith,  and  every 
cloud  between  him  and  Nan  would  vanish!  They 
could  be  married  at  once  and  the  future  was  secure. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  to  keep  silent  for  the  moment  as 
to  his  real  relations  to  Nan  and  compromise  his  sense 
of  honour  by  accepting  the  wages  of  a  man  whose 
principles  he  despised.  His  decision  was  made  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  It  was  yet  the  morning  of 
life. 

"I  refuse  the  offer,  Cal,"  he  said  firmly. 

Bivens  rose  quickly  and  placed  his  smooth  hand  on 
his  friend's. 

"I  won't  take  that  answer  now.  Think  it  over. 
I'll  see  you  again." 

He  turned  and  left  the  room  before  Stuart  could 
reply. 

The  lawyer  drew  a  photograph  from  his  desk  and 
looked  at  it,  smiling  tenderly. 

"I  wonder,  Nan!     I  wonder!" 

The  smile  slowly  faded,  and  a  frown  clouded  his 
brow.  The  lines  of  his  mouth  suddenly  tightened, 

"I'll  settle  it  to-day,"  he  said  with  decision,  as 
he  rose,  took  his  hat  and  left  for  Gramercy  Park. 


CHAPTER  V 

AN   ISSUE    IS    FORCED 

It  was  noon  when  Stuart  reached  the  Primrose  house 
and  Nan  was  again  out.  He  received  the  announce 
ment  from  her  mother  with  a  feeling  of  rage  he  could 
ill  conceal. 

"  Where  is  she?  I  seem  never  to  be  able  to  find  her 
at  home." 

"Now,  don't  be  absurd,  Jim.     You  know  she  would 
have   broken   any   engagement   to   see   you,   had   she. 
known  you  were  going  to  call  to-day.     She  has  only 
gone  to  the  dressmaker's." 

"How  long  will  she  be  there?" 

"Until  four." 

"Four  hours  at  a  dressmaker's " 

"And  then  she's  going  to  the  hair  dressser's." 

"And  then?" 

"She  has  an  engagement  for  tea.  I  don't  expect 
her  home  until  seven.  I'm  awfully  sorry." 

"Of  course,  I  understand,  Mrs.  Primrose,"  Stuart 
said  with  a  light  laugh,  "I  should  have  told  her  — 
but  I  didn't  know  until  a  few  moments  ago  that  I  was 
coming." 

"Nothing  serious  has  happened,  I  hope?"  she  asked, 
with  carefully  modulated  sympathy  which  said  plainly 
that  she  hoped  for  the  worst. 

"No.     Just  say  that  I'll  call  after  dinner." 
'All  right,  Jim,   dear,"   the  mother  purred.     "I'll 
see  that  she's  here  if  I  have  to  lock  the  door." 

41 


42  The  Root  of  Evil 

Stuart  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  as  he  passed  out 
murmuring : 

" Thank  you." 

It  was  useless  to  try  to  work.  His  mind  was  in  a 
tumult  of  passionate  protest.  He  must  have  this 
thing  out  with  Nan  once  for  all.  Their  engagement 
must  be  announced  immediately. 

He  went  to  the  Players'  Club  and  lunched  alone 
in  brooding  silence.  He  tried  to  read  and  couldn't. 
He  strolled  out  aimlessly  and  began  to  ramble  without 
purpose.  Somehow  to-day  everything  on  which  his 
eye  rested  and  every  sound  that  struck  his  ear  pro 
claimed  the  advent  of  the  new  power  of  which  Bivens 
was  the  symbol  —  Bivens  with  his  delicate,  careful 
little  hand,  his  bulging  forehead,  his  dark  keen  eyes! 
An  ice  wagon  dashed  by.  It  belonged  to  the  ice  trust. 
A  big  coal  cart  blocked  the  sidewalk.  The  coal  trust 
was  one  of  the  first.  The  street  crossing  at  Broadway 
and  Twenty-third  Street  was  jammed  with  a  string  of 
delivery  waggons  from  the  department  stores  whose 
growth  had  crushed  a  hundred  small  trades.  The  clang 
of  the  cars  proclaimed  the  Street  Railway  Merger  and  a 
skyscraper  called  "The  Flatiron"  was  just  raising  its 
giant  frame  on  the  little  triangle  where  a  half-dozen 
old-fashioned  buildings  had  stood  for  generations. 
Across  Madison  Square  the  Metropolitan  Life  Insur 
ance  Company  was  tearing  down  a  whole  block,  section 
by  section,  and  a  palace  of  white  marble  was  slowly 
rearing  its  huge  form.  The  passing  of  an  era  was  plain. 
He  could  see  the  hand  of  the  new  mysterious  power 
building  a  world  before  his  very  eyes.  Strange  he 
hadn't  noticed  it  until  Bivens's  dark  sneering  face  this 
morning,  insolent  in  its  conscious  strength,  had  opened 
his  eyes.  What  chance  had  his  old  friend  Woodman 
against  such  forces? 


An  Issue  is  Forced  43 

Yet  why  should  he  resent  them  personally?  He 
was  young.  The  future  was  his  —  not  the  past.  He 
didn't  resent  them.  Of  course  not.  What  he  did 
resent  was  the  approach  of  the  particular  Juggernaut 
named  John  C.  Calhoun  Bivens  toward  the  woman  he 
loved.  That  Bivens  should  fall  hopelessly  and  blindly 
in  love  with  Nan  at  first  sight  was  too  stupefying  to 
be  grasped  at  once.  She  couldn't  love  such  a  man  — 
and  yet  his  millions  and  that  slippery  mother  were  a 
sinister  combination.  He  congratulated  himself  that 
his  interview  with  Bivens  had  put  him  in  possession 
of  a  most  important  secret,  and  he  would  force  the 
issue  at  once. 

By  evening  he  had  thrown  off  his  depression  and  met 
Nan  with  something  of  his  old  gaiety,  to  which  she 
responded  with  a  touch  of  coquetry. 

"Tell  me,  Jim,"  she  began  with  a  smile  of  mischief 
in  her  eyes,  "why  you  called  at  the  remarkable  hour 
of  twelve  noon,  to-day?  Am  I  becoming  so  resistless 
that  work  no  longer  has  any  charms?  You  must  have 
something  very  important  to  say?"  Her  eyes  danced 
with  the  consciousness  of  her  advantage. 

"Yes.  I  have,  Nan,"  he  answered  soberly,  taking 
her  hand.  "I  want  a  public  announcement  of  our 
engagement  in  to-morrow  morning's  papers." 

"Jim!" 

"I  mean  it." 

"But  why?  You  know  the  one  concession,  the  only 
one  I  have  ever  made  to  my  mother's  hostility  to  you, 
is  that  our  engagement  shall  be  kept  a  secret  until 
we  are  ready  to  marry.  We  must  play  fair." 

"I  will,   we  are  ready  now." 

Nan's  voice  broke  into  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

"Oh,  are  we?  —  I  didn't  know  it." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  came  to  tell  you,"  Stuart  went 


44  The  Root  of  Evil 

on,  catching  her  spirit  of  fun  and  pressing  her  hand. 
"I've  arranged  a  little  trip  to  the  country  to-morrow, 
and  I'm  going  to  convince  you  before  we  return.  You 
can  go?" 

"Of  course,  I'm  open  to  conviction." 

"And  you  consent  to  the  announcement?" 

"To-night?" 

"Yes." 

"No.  You  must  convince  me  first.  You've  planned 
the  trip  for  that  purpose." 

"Make  the  announcement  to-night,  dear!  On  my 
honour  I  promise  to  convince  you  to-morrow  that  we 
are  ready.  I've  an  argument  that  never  fails  —  an 
argument  no  woman  can  resist." 

"Not  to-night,  Jim,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

"Can't  you  trust  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  I've  dis 
covered  something  to-day  that  makes  it  necessary?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  sharply. 

"Now,  I  can't  trust  you  at  all!  I've  got  to  know 
the  secret  of  your  call  this  morning.  What  has  hap 
pened  since  we  parted  last  night?" 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Bivens." 

Nan  leaped  to  her  feet,  her  face  flushed,  her  voice 
ringing  with  triumph. 

"And  you  did  what  I  asked  you  —  oh,  you're  a 
darling!  Why  did  you  tease  me  so  last  night?  You 
accepted  his  offer?" 

"You  misunderstand,  I  didn't  call  on  Bivens.  He 
came  to  see  me." 

"And  you  refused!  Oh,  Jim,  don't  tell  me  you  were 
so  foolish!" 

"I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  dear,  but  I  had  to  — 
that's  all." 

The  girl  dropped  into  her  seat  with  a  sigh,  while  he 
went  on: 


An  Issue  is  Forced  45 

"My  interview  with  Bivens  led  to  a  most  important 
and  embarrassing  discovery." 

"Embarrassing  —  what  do  you  mean?  He  offered 
you  the  position?" 

"Yes,  and  finally  confessed  that  he  did  it  wholly 
to  please  you." 

Nan's  figure  suddenly  straightened. 

"Indeed!  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  my  wishes  find 
favour  somewhere!" 

"Bivens  further  confided  in  me  the  fact  that  he  is 
hopelessly  and  desperately  in  love  with  you." 

A  flash  of  anger  mantled  Nan's  cheeks. 

"That  will  do,  Jim,"  she  said  in  quiet  cold  tones. 
"Your  joke  has  gone  far  enough." 

"Joke!  Do  you  think  I  could  joke  on  such  a  sub 
ject?" 

A  smile  began  to  play  about  the  corners  of  the  full 
lips. 

"You  don't  mean  it  — really?" 

"Certainly.  He  told  me  so  in  the  plainest  sort  of 
blunt  English.  And  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have 
not  suspected  it?" 

"I  never  dreamed  he  was  so  easy!"  Still  smiling 
dreamily  Nan  crossed  her  hands  over  her  knees  and 
studied  the  pattern  in  the  rug,  ignoring  the  presence 
of  her  lover. 

"Then  you  underestimate  your  powers." 

"Evidently." 

Her  eyes  were  laughing  again  mischievously. 

"Let's  not  joke,  Nan.     It's  too  serious." 

"Serious!     I  fail  to  see  it." 

"Can't  you  see  that  we  must  at  once  announce  our 
engagement?" 

The  girl's  lips  curled  with  the  faintest  suggestion 
of  sarcasm. 


46  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  don't  see  it  at  all.  You  may  be  a  good  lawyer, 
but  I  fail  to  follow  your  logic." 

Stuart  rose  with  a  gesture  of  anger. 

"Come  to  the  point,  Nan.  Let's  not  beat  the  devil 
around  the  stump  any  longer.  You  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  you've  been  trying  to  flirt  with  this  little 
insect " 

"Trying  to  flirt?" 

"Yes." 

"Trying?  Don't  you  think  I  could  if  I  wished 
without  bungling  the  effort?  What  a  poor  opinion 
you  hold  of  my  talent." 

"You  know  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you  despise 
Bivens." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  vastly  admire  him.  The  man 
who  can  enter  with  his  handicap  this  big  heartless 
city  and  successfully  smash  the  giants  who  oppose 
him  is  not  an  insect.  I'd  rather  call  him  a  hero.  All 
women  admire  success." 

"I  see,"  Stuart  replied  with  suppressed  fury,  "you 
enjoy  your  conquest." 

"And  why  not?"  she  drawled,  with  lazy  indifference. 

"It's   disgusting!" 

Nan  fixed  her  dark  eyes  on  Stuart. 

"How  dare  you  use  such  a  word  to  me?" 

"Because  it's  true  and  you  know  it." 

"True  or  false,  you  can't  say  it"  —  she  rose  de 
liberately —  "you  may  go  now!" 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  Stuart  stammered  in  a  queer 
mufBed  voice.  "I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you.  I  was 
mad  with  jealousy." 

"You  may  go,"  was  the  hard  even  answer. 

"I  can't  go  like  this,  dearest,"  he  pleaded.  "You 
must  forgive  me  —  you  must!  Look  at  me!" 

She  turned  slowly,  stared  him  full  in  the  face  for  a 


An  Issue  is  Forced  47 

moment  without  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid,  her  fine  figure 
tense,  erect,  cold,  as  she  quietly  said: 

"You  are  tiring  me,  Jim." 

For  an  instant  an  impulse  of  overwhelming  anger 
mastered  him.  He  returned  her  look  with  one  of 
concentrated  rage  and  their  eyes  met  in  the  first  supreme 
clash  of  wills.  For  a  moment  he  saw  the  world  red, 
and  caught  in  its  glare  something  he  had  never  seen 
in  Nan  before,  a  conscious  cruelty  and  a  joy  in  her 
power  that  was  evil  —  a  cruelty  that  could  spring  only 
from  the  deepest  and  most  merciless  self -worship. 
For  the  first  time  he  saw  a  cold-blooded  calculation 
behind  her  beautiful  eyes,  caught  its  accent  in  the 
richly  modulated  voice,  and  felt  it  in  the  smile  which 
showed  the  white  teeth  —  the  smile  of  a  woman  who 
would  pause  at  nothing  to  get  what  she  wanted.  The 
old  savage  impulse  to  strangle  surged  through  his  veins, 
and  he  was  startled  into  the  consciousness  of  his 
situation  by  the  fierce  grip  of  his  finger  nails  in  his 
fists  clinched  so  tight  they  began  to  cut  the  flesh. 

A  blush  of  shame  tinged  his  face  as  he  tremblingly 
said: 

"Please,  dear,  let's  not  part  like  this!  I've  suffered 
enough  to-day.  You're  only  teasing  me.  And  I've 
acted  like  a  fool.  Say  that  you  forgive  me!" 

"Our  engagement  is  at  an  end,  Mr.  Stuart,"  was  the 
quiet  answer. 

"Nan- 

Before  he  could  recover  from  the  shock  or  utter  a 
protest,  she  opened  the  door  and  he  had  passed  out 
into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    FORGOTTEN    MAN 

The  suddenness  of  his  dismissal  broke  the  strain 
under  which  Stuart  had  been  labouring  for  hours.  It 
was  ridiculous.  He  began  to  laugh  at  the  silliness  of 
the  whole  thing  —  what  an  idiotic  performance  any 
how  —  these  lovers'  quarrels !  He  saw  the  comedy  of 
it,  ate  a  hearty  supper,  and  went  to  bed  firm  in  the 
conviction  that  he  would  see  Nan  again  the  next  day. 

But  the  morning  came  with  a  sense  of  growing  un 
certainty.  It  was  raining.  He  would  have  enjoyed 
a  storm,  but  it  was  just  a  drizzle  with  a  penetrating 
dampness  that  found  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  He 
called  a  messenger  and  sent  a  note  to  Nan  asking  her 
to  forget  the  ugly  memory  of  the  night  before  and  ful 
fill  her  promise  to  go  to  the  country  when  the  rain 
ceased.  If  it  continued  to  rain  he  would  call  at  eight. 
He  told  the  boy  to  wait  for  an  answer.  The  messenger 
returned  promptly  and  handed  back  his  note  unopened. 

Of  course  she  was  bluffing.  She  knew  she  had  the 
whip  hand  for  the  moment  and  meant  to  use  it. 

"  Well,  two  can  play  this  game,"  he  muttered. 
"We'll  see  who  wins!" 

He  turned  to  his  work  with  grim  resolution. 

For  two  weeks  the  battle  between  pride  and  love 
raged  in  silence.  Each  day  he  rose  with  the  hope  of 
some  sign  from  Nan,  and  each  day  hope  died  in  a  more 
desperate  and  sullen  despair.  At  last  he  began  to 
question  the  wisdom  of  his  course.  Should  he  not 

48 


The  Forgotten  Man  49 

fight  his  battle  at  closer  range?  What  if  he  were  in 
reality  engaged  in  a  mortal  combat  with  Bivens's 
millions  for  Nan's  soul  and  body!  The  idea  was  too 
hideous  to  be  thinkable.  In  his  anger  he  had  accused 
her  of  flirting  with  Bivens,  but  in  his  heart  he  didn't 
believe  it.  The  personality  of  the  little  money-grubber 
made  the  idea  preposterous.  He  was  not  only  frail, 
insignificant,  and  unattractive  physically,  but  he  had 
personal  habits  which  were  offensive  to  Nan's  feelings 
of  refinement.  His  excessive  use  of  tobacco  was  one 
thing  he  knew  she  could  not  tolerate.  Tobacco  was 
her  pet  aversion. 

And  yet  the  more  he  thought  of  the  scene  of  their 
parting,  the  more  sickening  became  the  conviction  that 
her  anger  at  his  use  of  an  ugly  word  was  merely  a  sub 
terfuge  to  break  their  engagement.  The  perfidy  and 
cruelty  of  such  an  act  was  too  hideous  for  belief  —  yet 
if  the  thing  were  possible!  He  had  left  her  to  struggle 
alone  with  the  first  great  temptation  of  life,  and  he 
began  to  feel  that  it  was  cowardly.  He  should  have 
stood  his  ground  and  fought  for  his  love. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  go  at  once  and  fight  for  his 
old  place  beside  her  on  any  terms  she  would  grant. 
He  seized  his  hat  and  opened  the  door.  To  his  amaze 
ment  Bivens  was  leisurely  ascending  the  steps. 

What  on  earth  could  he  want?  Was  he  making  a 
social  call  without  announcement,  as  was  the  habit 
of  his  village  days  in  the  South?  At  this  moment 
Bivens  was  the  last  man  he  wished  to  encounter, 
yet  a  meeting  seemed  inevitable.  He  stepped  into 
the  parlour  and  sat  down  with  resignation  to  await  his 
entrance. 

To  his  amazement  he  heard  the  maid  say: 

"This  way,  sir,  Dr.  Woodman  asks  you  to  wait 
for  him  in  the  library." 


So  The  Root  of  Evil 

So  Bivens  was  calling  on  his  arch  enemy  by  appoint 
ment.  Stuart  replaced  his  hat  on  the  rack  and  returned 
to  his  room,  determined  to  await  the  outcome  of  this 
extraordinary  visit.  That  its  significance  was  sinister 
he  couldn't  doubt  for  a  moment.  Little  could  he 
dream  how  fateful  for  his  future  life  was  the  message 
the  little  dark  man  bore.  Stuart  closed  his  door  with 
a  sensation  of  foreboding,  sat  down  and  tried  to  read. 

On  Dr.  Woodman's  entrance,  Bivens  rose  to  greet 
him  with  unusual  animation  and  unmistakable  good 
will. 

When  the  doctor  grasped  the  outstretched  hand  a 
more  striking  contrast  could  scarcely  be  imagined  — 
the  one  big,  bluff,  jovial,  sunny,  powerful  and  straight 
of  figure  as  he  was  always  straight  in  speech  and  man 
ners  —  the  financier,  small  and  weak  in  body,  his 
movements  sinuous,  flexible,  with  eyes  that  never 
looked  at  the  man  he  was  talking  to,  yet  always  seemed 
to  be  taking  in  everything  in  the  room  —  eyes  un 
usually  dark,  yet  seemingly  full  of  piercing  light  as 
from  hidden  fires  beneath. 

"Well,  Bivens, what  can  I  do  for  you?  I  understand 
from  your  note  that  the  matter  is  important." 

"Of  the  gravest  importance  to  us  both,  Doctor,"  he 
answered  with  a  smile.  "For  a  peculiar  personal 
reason  I  want  us  to  get  together  and  settle  our 
differences." 

"Are  there  any  differences  between  us?  You  go 
your  way  and  I  go  mine.  You  run  your  business  to 
suit  yourself  and  I'll  do  the  same.  The  world's  big 
enough  for  us  both " 

"That  just  the  trouble,"  Bivens  interrupted.     "It 
isn't.     We   are   entering   a   new   era   of   combination, 
merger,  cooperation." 
X         "Compulsory  cooperation!"  the  doctor  laughed. 


The  Forgotten  Man  51 

"It  may  be  so  at  last,"  the  little  man  said  soberly. 
"Certainly  the  old  idea  of  competition  is  played 
out.  We  no  longer  believe  that  business  men  should 
try  to  cut  each  other's  throats. " 

"Oh,  I  see/'  sneered  the  doctor,  "they  should  get 
together,  corral  their  customers,  and  cut  their  throats. 
That  certainly  is  better  for  business,  but  how  about 
the  customers?" 

"Business  is  business,"  was  the  grim  answer 

"For  beasts  of  the  field,  yes  —  but  for  men?" 

"Still,  you  must  recognize  the  fact  that  the  drug 
trade  is  a  business  enterprise,  not  a  charity  organi 
zation." 

"Even  so,  still  I  happen  to  know  that  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  my  store  swarms  a  population  of  a  quarter 
of  a  million  human  beings  so  poor  that  only  three 
hundred  of  them  ever  have  access  to  a  bathroom. 
The  death  rate  of  the  children  is  254  in  a  thousand. 
It  should  be  about  20  in  a  thousand,  if  normal.  I 
don't  want  any  higher  profits  out  of  my  customers. 
If  I've  got  to  fight  I'd  rather  fight  the  trade  than  fight 
the  people.  I  choose  the  lesser  evil." 

"But  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  evil." 

"You  ask  me  to  enter  with  you  into  a  criminal  con 
spiracy  to  suppress  freedom  of  trade,  and  use  fraud  and 
violence  if  necessary  to  win " 

"Fraud  and  violence?"  Bivens  interrupted,  smil 
ingly. 

"Certainly.  What  sort  of  merchandise  does  the 
'organizer'  of  modern  industry  bring  to  market?  Tricks 
and  subterfuges  in  the  form  of  printed  paper  called 
stocks  which  represent  no  value.  From  the  moment 
a  financier  once  tastes  this  blood  he  becomes  a  beast. 
With  the  first  fierce  realization  of  the  fact  that  under 
modern  legal  forms  he  can  coin  money  out  of  nothing 


52  The  Root  of  Evil 

by  binding  the  burdens  of  debt  on  the  backs  of  helpless 
millions,  he  begins  to  laugh  at  the  laws  of  man  and  God." 

"Come,  come,  Doctor,  you  must  realize  the  fact  that 
in  the  drug  business  we  are  bringing  order  out  of  chaos 
and  at  last  putting  the  trade  on  a  paying  basis." 

"But  at  what  a  price!  You  have  closed  mills  in 
stead  of  opening  them,  thrown  out  of  work  thousands, 
lowered  the  price  paid  for  raw  material,  bringing  ruin 
to  its  producers,  increased  the  price  charged  for  your 
products  to  the  ruin  of  the  consumer,  and  saddled 
millions  of  fictitious  debts  on  the  backs  of  their  chil 
dren  yet  unborn.  Combine,  yes,  but  why  not  pay 
the  people  whose  wages  you  have  stolen  as  well  as  the 
owners  whose  mills  you  have  closed?  If  combination 
.;  is  so  extremely  profitable,  it  should  bring  some  bene 
fit  to  the  millions  who  are  consumers  —  not  merely 
make  millionaires  out  of  a  few  men.  Who  is  bearing 
the  burden  of  this  enormous  increase  of  fictitious  wealth? 
The  people.  The  price  of  living  has  been  increasing 
steadily  with  the  organization  of  each  industry  into 
a  trust.  Where  will  it  end?" 

Bivens's  eyes  narrowed  to  the  merest  points  of 
concentrated  light,  while  an  amused  smile  played 
about  them  as  he  listened  patiently  to  the  doctor's 
tirade.  When  at  last  the  big  figure  towering  above 
him  paused  for  breath,  he  remarked  quietly: 

"The  trust  is  here  to  stay,  Doctor.  Legislation 
against  it  is  as  absurd  and  futile  as  a  movement  to  stop 
the  tides.  We  will  never  pull  down  these  big  depart 
ment  stores  or  go  back  to  the  little  ones.  The  sky 
scraper  will  not  come  down  from  the  heavens  merely 
because  a  belated  traveller  rails  that  his  view  of  the 
stars  has  been  obscured.  You  cannot  make  economy 
a  crime,  progress  a  misdemeanour,  or  efficiency  a  felony ! 
If  so,  you  can  destroy  the  trusts." 


The  Forgotten  Man  53 

"I'm  not  clear  yet  how  it  is  to  be  done/'  was  the 
passionate  answer  —  "but  as  sure  as  God  lives  we  are 
going  to  do  something.  The  spirit  of  America  is  pro- 
gressive,  up  hill,  not  down  hill,  mind  you.  At  pres 
ent  we  are  putting  wreckers  in  charge  of  Organization 
and  famine  producers  in  charge  of  Production.  It 
can't  last.  At  no  period  of  the  world's  history  have  the 
claims  of  tyranny  been  so  quickly  seen  and  dared,  as 
here  and  now.  Nowhere  and  in  no  age  has  tyranny 
confronted  such  a  people  as  ours  with  life  and  culture 
and  ideals  as  high  —  a  people  so  in  love  with  liberty, 
so  disciplined  in  its  struggles!  When  the  day  comes 
that  we  shall  be  confronted  with  death  or  degradation, 
the  young  American  will  know  how  to  choose.  Pa 
triotism  with  me  is  not  an  empty  word.  It  is  one  of 
the  passions  of  my  life.  I  believe  in  this  Republic. 
For  the  moment  the  people  are  asleep.  But  time  is 
slowly  shaping  the  issue  that  will  move  the  last  laggard. 
We  are  beginning  dimly  to  see  that  there  is  something 
more  precious  in  our  life  than  the  mere  tonnage  of 
national  wealth  —  the  spirit  of  freedom  and  initiative 
in  our  people!  Shall  they  become  merely  the  hired  men 
of  a  few  monied  kings?  Or  shall  the  avenues  of  in 
dustry  and  individual  enterprise  remain  open  to  their 
children?  Is  it  more  important  to  grow  men  or  make 
money?  Shall  we  transform  the  Republic  into  a  huge 
money-stamping  machine  and  turn  its  freemen  into 
slaves  who  tend  this  machine,  at  the  command  of  a 
master?  The  people  will  answer  these  questions!" 

Bivens  gave  a  cynical  little  chuckle. 

"Then  I'm  sure  we'll  get  the  wrong  answer,  Doctor," 
was  the  response. 

"They  will  get  it  right  bye  and  bye.  The  nation 
is  young.  You  say  you  believe  in  God.  Well,  see  to 
it  —  a  thousand  years  are  but  a  day  to  Him !  Among 


54  The  Root  of  Evil 

the  shadows  of  eternity  He  is  laughing  at  your  follies. 
Nature  in  her  long,  slow,  patient  process  is  always  on 
the  side  of  Justice." 

Bivens  rose  with  a  movement  of  impatience. 

"I'm  sorry  you  can't  see  your  way  to  listen  to  any 
proposition  from  me,  Doctor.  I'm  a  practical  man. 
I  wish  to  incorporate  your  business  into  the  general 
organization  of  the  American  Chemical  Company  on 
terms  that  will  satisfy  you  - 

"Such  terms  can't  be  made,  Bivens,"  the  doctor 
said  impetuously.  "Your  purpose  is  to  squeeze  money 
out  of  the  people  —  the  last  dollar  the  trade  will  bear. 
That  is  your  motto.  I  simply  refuse.  I  refuse  to 
devote  my  life  to  gouging  out  my  neighbours'  eyes  to 
increase  the  profits  of  my  trade.  I  put  myself  in  his 
place,  the  place  of  the  forgotten  man,  the  consumer, 
the  man  you  are  organizing  to  exploit.  The  strong 
and  the  cunning  can  always  take  advantage  of  the 
weak,  the  ignorant,  the  foolish  and  generous.  I  have 
an  imagination  which  makes  vivid  the  sense  of  fellow 
ship.  I  meet,  in  the  crowds  I  pass,  thousands  of  friends 
I  never  speak  to,  but  the  world  is  brighter  because  I've 
seen  them." 

"But  if  I  don't  see  them?"  the  little  black  eyes 
mildly  asked. 

"Certainly!  You  can't  see  them.  To  you  the  city 
is  merely  a  big  flock  of  sheep  to  be  sheared,  while  to 
me  its  myriad  sounds  are  the  music  of  a  divine  oratorio, 
throbbing  with  tears  and  winged  with  laughter!  To 
you,  the  crowd  are  so  many  fools  who  may  be  buncoed 
out  of  their  goods;  while  to  me,  some  of  their  eyes, 
seen  but  for  a  moment,  look  into  mine  with  infinite 
hunger  and  yearning,  asking  for  friendship,  comrade 
ship,  and  love.  And  so,  I  call  them  my  neighbours  — 
these  hurrying  throngs  who  pass  me  daily.  Because 


The  Forgotten  Man  55 

they  are  my  neighbours,  they  are  my  friends.  Their 
rights  are  sacred.  I  will  not  rob,  maim,  or  kill  them, 
and  I  will  defend  them  against  those  who  would!" 

With  the  last  sentence  the  stalwart  figure  towered  above 
the  little  financier  in  a  moment  of  instinctive  hostility. 

Bivens  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  answered 
in  measured,  careful  tones: 

"Then  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  fight  you  whether  I 
wish  it  or  not?  " 

"Yes,  and  you  knew  that  before  you  came  here  to 
night.  Your  generous  impulse  for  a  settlement  on  my 
own  terms  is  a  shallow  trick  and  it  comes  too  late.  I'm 
not  fighting  my  own  battle  merely.  I'm  fighting  for 
the  people.  You  have  heard  that  I  am  beginning  a 
suit  for  damages  against  your  Company " 

Bivens  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  bit  his  lips,  and 
looked  at  the  doctor. 

"I  assure  you  I  had  heard  nothing  of  such  a  suit, 
and  now  that  I  have  it  does  not  even  interest  me." 

"Then  may  I  ask  the  real  reason  for  this  urgent  call 
and  request  for  a  compromise  of  our  differences?" 

"You  may,"  was  the  cheerful  response.  "And  I 
will  answer  frankly.  I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to 
Miss  Nan  Primrose.  The  wedding  is  to  occur  in  a 
few  weeks.  In  some  way  she  has  learned  of  a  possible 
conflict  between  your  interests  and  mine,  and  asked 
me  to  settle  them." 

"And,  may  I  ask,  why?  I  don't  even  know  Miss 
Primrose!" 

"A  woman's  whim,  perhaps.  Possibly  because  our 
mutual  friend,  Mr.  Stuart,  lives  in  your  home,  and 
she  feared  to  lose  his  friendship  in  the  conflict  which 
might  ensue." 

The  doctor  was  silent  a  moment  and  glared  angrily 
at  his  visitor. 


56  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Bivens,  you're  a  liar/'  he  cried  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  rage. 

The  dark  face  flushed  and  the  slim  little  hand  began 
to  tremble. 

"I  am  your  guest,  Doctor " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  forgot  myself." 

"I  assure  you,"  the  little  financier  continued 
smoothly,  "that  my  intentions  were  friendly  and  gen 
erous.  My  only  desire  was  to  help  you  and  make  you 
rich." 

Again  the  doctor's  eyes  blazed  with  wrath  and  he 
completely  lost  his  self-control. 

"Damn  you,  have  I  asked  for  your  help  or  patronage? 
Its  offer  is  an  insult!  I  want  you  to  remember,  sir, 
that  I  picked  you  up  out  of  the  streets  of  New  York, 
ill,  hungry,  out  of  work,  friendless,  and  gave  you  your 
first  job." 

Bivens,  breathing  heavily,  turned  in  silence  and 
hurried  to  the  door.  The  doctor  followed. 

With  his  hand  on  the  knob,  the  financier  turned, 
his  face  black  with  hate  and  slowly  said: 

"I'll  make  you  live  to  regret  this  interview,  Wood 
man!" 

With  a  contemptuous  grunt,  the  doctor  closed  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   VISION 

When  Stuart  heard  the  door  close  and  Bivens's  step 
die  away  on  the  pavement  below,  he  came  down  to 
see  the  doctor,  haunted  by  a  strange  vision.  Through 
every  day  of  his  subsequent  life  the  most  trivial  de 
tails  of  that  hour  stood  out  in  his  memory  with  peculiar 
and  terrible  vividness.  From  every  shadow  he  saw 
Nan's  face  looking  into  his.  He  was  not  superstitious; 
this  impression  he  knew  was  simply  a  picture  burned 
into  his  tired  brain  by  days  and  nights  of  intense  long 
ing.  But  what  increased  the  horror  of  the  fancy  was 
the  fact  that  the  picture  changed  in  quick  succession, 
from  the  face  of  the  living  to  the  face  of  the  dead. 
He  closed  his  eyes  at  last  and  in  sheer  desperation  felt 
his  way  down  the  last  flight  of  stairs.  The  fiercer 
the  effort  he  made  to  shut  out  the  picture,  the  more 
vivid  it  became  until  he  found  himself  shivering  over 
the  last  persistent  outline  which  refused  to  vanish 
at  any  command  of  his  will.  It  was  the  ghost  of  Nan's 
face  —  old,  white,  pulseless,  terrible  in  its  beauty, 
but  dead. 

"Of  what  curious  stuff  we're  made!"  he  exclaimed, 
pressing  his  forehead  as  if  to  clear  the  brain  of  its 
horrible  fancy.  He  paused  in  the  lower  hall  and  watched 
for  a  moment  a  scene  between  father  and  daughter 
through  the  open  door  of  the  library. 

Harriet  had  just  bounded  into  the  room  and  stood 
beside  the  doctor's  chair  with  an  arm  around  his  neck 

57 


58  The  Root  of  Evil 

and  the  other  hand  gently  smoothing  his  soft  gray  hair. 
She  was  crooning  over  his  tired  figure  with  the  quaintest 
little  mother  touches. 

"You  look  so  worn  out,  Papa  dear  —  what  have 
you  been  doing?" 

"Something  very  foolish,  I'm  afraid,  Baby  —  I've  just 
refused  a  fortune  that  might  have  been  yours  some  day. ' ' 

"Why  did  you  refuse  it?" 

"Because  I  didn't  believe  it  was  clean  and  honest." 
r  "Then  I  shouldn't  want  it.  I'd  rather  be  poor." 

The  doctor  placed  both  hands  on  the  fair  young  face, 
drew  it  very  close  and  whispered : 

"Had  you,  dearie?" 

"Why,  of  course  I  had!" 

The  big  hands  drew  the  golden  head  closer  still  and 
pressed  a  kiss  on  the  young  forehead. 

"My  husband  will  love  me,  won't  he?  I  shall  not 
mind  if  I'm  poor,"  she  went  on,  laughing,  as  Stuart 
entered  the  room. 

"See,  boy,  how's  she's  growing,  this  little  baby  of 
mine!"  the  doctor  exclaimed,  wheeling  her  about  for 
Stuart's  inspection.  "It's  a  source  of  endless  wonder 
to  me,  this  miracle  of  growth  —  to  watch  this  child 
—  and  see  myself,  a  big  brute  of  a  man  —  growing, 
growing,  slowly  but  surely  into  the  tender  glorious 
form  of  a  living  woman  —  that's  God's  greatest  miracle ! 
Run  now,  girlie,  and  go  to  bed.  I  want  to  talk  to 
Jim." 

She  paused  a  moment,  smiling  into  Stuart's  face  and 
softly  said: 

"Good-night,  Jim  —  pleasant  dreams!" 

Through  all  the  riot  of  emotions  with  which  that 
night  ended  and  through  the  years  of  bitter  struggle 
which  followed,  that  picture  was  the  one  ray  of  sun 
light  which  never  faded. 


A  Vision  59 

"Well,  my  boy,  I've  just  done  a  thing  which  I  know 
was  inevitable,  but  now  that  it's  done  I'm  afraid  I 
may  have  made  a  tragic  mistake.  Tell  me  if  it's  so. 
There  may  be  time  to  retract." 

"Bivens  has  threatened  to  ruin  your  business?" 

"On  the  other  hand,  he  has  just  offered  to  buy  it 
at  my  own  price." 

"And  you  refused?" 

"To  sell  at  any  price  —  but  it's  not  too  late  to  change 
my  mind.  I  can  call  him  back  now  and  apologize 
for  my  rudeness.  Tell  me,  should  I  do  it?  " 

"Do  you  doubt  that  you're  right  in  the  position 
you've  taken?" 

"Not  for  a  moment.  But  the  old  question  of  ex 
pediency  always  bobs  up.  I'm  getting  older.  I'm  not 
as  old  as  this  white  hair  would  make  me,  but  I  feel  it. 
Perhaps  I  am  out-of-date.  Your  eyes  are  young,  boy; 
your  soul  fresh  from  God's  heart.  I'm  just  a  little 
lonely  and  afraid  to-night.  See  things  for  me  —  sit 
down  a  moment." 

The  doctor  drew  Stuart  into  a  seat  and  rushed  on 
impatiently. 

"Listen,  and  then  tell  me  if  I  should  follow  that 
little  weasel  and  apologize.  I'll  do  it  if  you  say  so  — 
at  least  I  think  I  would,  for  I'm  afraid  of  myself." 
He  paused,  and  a  look  of  pain  clouded  his  fine  face  as 
his  eye  rested  on  a  portrait  of  Harriet  on  the  table 
before  him. 

"There  are  several  reasons  why  you  couldn't  have 
a  more  sympathetic  listener  to-night,  Doctor  —  go 
on." 

"Grant  all  their  claims,"  he  began  impatiently, 
"for  the  Trust — its  economy,  its  efficiency,  its  power, 
its  success  —  this  is  a  free  country,  isn't  it?" 

"Theoretically." 


60  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Well,  I  wish  to  do  business  in  my  own  way  —  not 
so  big  and  successful  a  way  perhaps  as  theirs,  but  my 
own.  I  express  myself  thus.  When  I  hint  at  such 
a  thing  to  your  modern  organizing  friend,  that  these 
enormous  profits  for  the  few  must  be  paid  out  of  the 
poverty  of  the  many  —  against  whom  the  strong  and 
cunning  are  thus  combining  —  a  simple  answer  is 
always  ready,  'Business  is  business/  which  translated 
is  the  old  cry  that  the  first  murderer  shrieked  into  the 
face  of  his  questioner:  'Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?' 

"That's  why  I'm  afraid  of  these  fellows.  The  un 
restrained  lust  for  money  is  always  the  essence  of 
murder,  and  the  man  or  woman  who  surrenders  to 
its  spell  will  kill  when  put  to  the  test.  The  law  which 
holds  burglary  constructive  murder  is  founded  on  an 
elemental  truth.  The  man  who  puts  on  a  mask,  arms 
himself  with  revolver,  knife,  and  dark  lantern  and 
enters  my  house  to  rob  me  of  my  goods  will  not  hesitate 
to  kill  if  a  human  life  stands  in  the  way  of  his  success." 

"I  should  not  put  it  quite  so  strongly  of  these 
men " 

"I  do.  And  I  know  I'm  right.  I  saw  murder  in 
those  black  bead  eyes  of  Bivens's  to-night.  Do  you 
think  he  would  hesitate  to  close  a  factory  to  increase 
a  dividend  if  he  knew  that  act  would  result  in  the 
death  of  its  employees  from  weakness  and  hunger? 
Not  for  a  minute.  He  hesitates  only  at  a  violation 
of  the  letter  of  the  criminal  code.  What,  then,  is  the 
difference  between  a  burglar  and  a  modern  organizer 
of  industry?  Absolutely  none." 

Stuart  laughed. 

"Understand  me,  boy,  I'm  not  preaching  any  patent 
remedy  for  social  ills.  I'm  not  in  a  hurry.  I  can  wait 
as  God  waits.  But  this  question  is  with  me  a  personal 
one.  I  simply  hold  the  biggest  thing  on  earth  is  not 


A  Vision  61 

a  pile  of  gold,  stolen  or  honestly  earned.  The  biggest 
thing  on  this  earth  is  a  man.  Our  nation  is  not  rich 
by  reason  of  its  houses  and  lands,  its  gold  or  silver  or 
copper  or  iron  —  but  because  of  its  men.  I  believe 
in  improving  this  breed  of  men,  not  trying  to  destroy 
them.  For  that  reason  I  refuse  success  that  is  not 
built  on  the  success  and  happiness  of  others.  I  refuse 
to  share  in  prosperity  that  is  not  the  growth  of  pros 
perity." 

"But  if  you  sell  your  business  to  these  men  and 
retire,  will  you  necessarily  share  in  their  wrong 
doing?" 

"In  a  very  real  and  tragic  sense,  yes.  I'm  a  coward. 
I  give  up  the  fight.  I've  been  both  a  soldier  and  a 
merchant.  Why  does  the  world  honour  a  soldier  and 
despise  a  merchant?  Because  a  soldier's  business  is 
to  die  for  his  country,  and  a  merchant's  habit  is  to 
lie  for  profit.  Isn't  old  Ruskin  right?  Why  should 
not  trade  have  its  heroes  as  well  as  war?  Why  shouldn't 
I  be  just  as  ready  to  die  as  a  merchant  for  my  people 
as  I  was  on  the  field  of  battle?" 

The  doctor  paused,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim  while 
Stuart  bent  closer  and  watched  and  listened  as  if  in  a 
spell.  He  realized  that  his  old  friend  was  not  really 
asking  advice,  but  that  a  great  soul  in  a  moment  of 
utter  loneliness  was  laid  bare  and  crying  for  sympathy. 

The  doctor's  voice  took  a  tone  of  dreamy  tenderness. 

"I  am  just  passing  through  this  world  once.  I  can't 
live  a  single  day  of  it  over  again.  There  are  some 
things  I  simply  must  do  as  I  pass.  They  can't  wait, 
and  the  thing  that  has  begun  to  strangle  me  is  this 
modern  craze  for  money,  money,  money,  at  all  hazards, 
by  fair  or  foul  means!  In  every  walk  of  life  I  find  this 
cancer  eating  the  heart  out  of  men.  I  must  fight  it! 
I  must!  Good  food,  decent  clothes,  a  home,  pure  air, 


62  The  Root  of  Evil 

a  great  love  —  these  are  all  any  human  being  needs ! 
No  human  being  should  have  less.  I  will  not  strike 
down  my  fellow  man  to  get  more  for  myself  while 
one  human  being  on  this  earth  wants  as  much." 

Unconsciously  the  young  man's  hand  was  extended 
and  grasped  the  doctor's. 

"  You'll  never  know,"  Stuart  said  with  deep  emotion, 
"how  much  I  owe  to  you  in  my  own  life.  You  have 
always  been  an  inspiration  to  me." 

The  patient  gray  eyes  smiled. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that  to-night,  my  boy.  For 
strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you,  I've  been  whistling  to 
keep  up  my  courage.  I'm  going  to  make  this  fight  for 
principle  because  I  know  I'm  right,  and  yet  somehow 
when  I  look  into  the  face  of  my  baby  I'm  a  coward. 
I'm  going  to  make  this  fight  and  I've  a  sickening  fore 
boding  of  failure.  But  after  all,  can  a  man  fail  who 
is  right?" 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  was  the  ringing  answer  which 
leaped  to  Stuart's  lips.  "I've  had  to  face  a  crisis  like 
this  recently.  I  was  beginning  to  hesitate  and  think 
of  a  compromise.  You've  helped  me." 

"Good  luck,  my  boy,"  was  the  cheery  answer.  "I 
was  a  poor  soldier  to-night  myself  until  the  little  weasel 
told  me  an  obvious  lie  and  I  took  courage." 

"Funny  if  Bivens  should  do  anything  obvious." 

"Wasn't  it?  He  pretended  to  have  come  in  a  mood 
of  generosity  —  his  offer  of  settlement  inspired  by 
love." 

"The  devil  must  have  laughed." 

"  So  did  I  —  especially  when  he  told  me  that  he  was 
engaged  to  be  married." 

"Engaged  —  to  —  be  —  married?"  Stuart  made  a 
supreme  effort  to  appear  indifferent  —  "to  whom?" 

"To  Miss  Nan  Primrose,  a  young  lady  I  haven't 


A  Vision  63 

the  honour  of  knowing,  and  he  had  the  lying  audacity 
to  say  that  he  came  at  her  suggestion." 

Stuart  tried  to  speak  and  his  tongue  refused  to  move. 

"I  was  frank  enough  to  inform  him  that  he  was  a 
liar.  For  which,  of  course,  I  had  to  apologize.  Well, 
you've  helped  me  to-night,  boy,  more  than  I  can  tell 
you.  It  helps  an  old  man  to  look  into  the  eyes  of 
youth  and  renew  his  faith.  Good-night!" 

The  doctor  began  to  lower  the  lights,  and  Stuart  said 
mechanically: 

"Good-night!" 

In  a  stupor  of  blind  despair  he  slowly  fumbled  his 
way  up  to  his  room,  entered,  and  threw  himself  across 
the  bed  without  undressing.  It  was  one  thing  to 
preach,  another  to  face  the  thing  itself  alone  in  the 
darkness. 

Through  the  shadows  of  the  long  night  he  lay  with 
wide  staring  eyes,  gazing  at  the  vision  which  would 
not  vanish  —  the  face  of  the  woman  he  loved  —  cold, 
white,  pulseless,  terrible  in  its  beauty,  dead. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

STRUGGLE 

The  longer  Stuart  wrestled  with  the  problem  of 
Nan's  yielding  to  the  lure  of  Bivens's  gold  the  more 
hideous  and  hopeless  it  became.  He  cursed  her  in 
one  breath,  and  with  the  next  stretched  out  his  arms 
in  the  darkness  in  desperate  voiceless  longing. 

He  rose  at  last  and  stood  looking  out  his  window  on 
the  moonlit  Square.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  had  been 
to  blame.  Why  had  he  allowed  the  foolish  pride  of 
a  lovers'  quarrel  to  keep  them  apart  for  two  weeks? 
A  clock  in  a  distant  tower  struck  three.  The  radiance 
of  the  massed  lights  of  Broadway  still  glowed  in  the 
sky  and  dimmed  the  glory  of  the  moon.  The  roar  of 
the  elevated  trains  sounded  unusually  loud  and  sinister. 
Perhaps  because  Bivens  was  on  their  board  of  directors. 
The  whistle  of  their  air  brakes  seemed  to  hiss  his  name. 
A  crowd  of  revellers  passed  in  a  cab,  with  their  feet 
out  the  windows,  singing  a  drunken  song.  There 
was  something  sickening  in  the  thought  of  this  swiftly 
moving  remorseless  rush  of  a  city's  endless  life.  After 
all,  was  Nan  worse  than  others  —  thousands  of  others 
caught  in  the  merciless  grip  of  its  eternal  spell? 

The  clock  struck  five,  he  looked  out  the  window, 
startled  by  the  first  soft  light  of  the  dawn. 

He  came  downstairs,  let  himself  out  of  the  front 
door  and  began  to  walk  furiously.  When  at  last  he 
became  conscious  of  his  surroundings  he  had  reached 
Central  Park  and  was  seated  in  the  little  summer  house 

64 


Struggle  65 

on  a  big  pile  of  boulders  near  the  Sixth  Avenue  entrance. 
The  sun  was  rising.  It  was  the  first  sunrise  he  had 
ever  seen  in  New  York.  The  effect  on  his  imagination 
was  startling.  The  red  rays  streaming  through  the 
park  and  the  chirp  of  birds  in  the  bushes  were  magic 
touches  that  transformed  the  world.  He  was  back 
again  in  the  South,  where  Nature  is  the  one  big  fact  of 
life,  and  the  memories  of  the  girl  he  had  learned  to 
love  beside  its  beautiful  waters  again  overwhelmed  him. 

He  rose  with  a  cry  of  pain,  plunged  into  the  crowds 
streaming  downtown  to  their  work  and,  scarcely  con 
scious  of  anything  save  the  ache  within,  found  himself 
again  in  his  room.  He  disarranged  his  bed  that  his 
sleepless  night  might  not  excite  comment.  He  was 
just  a  little  ashamed  that  his  loss  of  poise  had  been  so 
complete  and  overwhelming. 

When  he  came  downstairs  he  paused  at  the  door. 
Harriet  was  playing  and  singing  again,  and  the  soft 
tones  of  her  voice  were  healing.  He  walked  gently 
to  the  door  of  the  music-room,  leaned  against  the  panel, 
and  watched  and  listened. 

She  played,  not  as  a  schoolgirl  practising  a  lesson, 
but  with  a  lingering  touch  of  joy  in  her  work  caressing 
each  note.  The  thrill  of  hope  and  faith  in  her  voice 
was  soothing.  It  soothed  the  wounded  soul  and  slowly 
brought  a  smile  to  his  face. 

At  last  she  stopped  reluctantly,  tipped  her  golden 
head  sideways  in  a  coquettish  little  triumphant  move 
ment,  and  in  the  quaintest  imitation  of  a  man's  voice 
said: 

•  "I  congratulate  you,  Miss  Harriet  —  I  like  that  very 
much!" 

"Do  you,  professor?  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  please 
you!" 

She  shook  her  curls  with  genuine  delight,  and  played 


66  The  Root  of  Evil 

out  the  little  dialogue  with  vivid  imaginary  touches. 

Stuart  laughed. 

The  girl  leaped  to  her  feet,  blushing  scarlet,  rushed 
to  his  side  and  seized  his  hand. 

"Did  you  see  me,  Jim?    Was  I  very  foolish?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  quite  agree  with  the  professor. 
You  will  some  day  sing  before  kings  and  queens,  little 
girl.  You  sing  as  the  birds,  because  it's  in  your  soul. 
And  I  want  to  thank  you,  too.  You've  helped  me 
again.  I  had  a  hard  day's  work  before  me,  and  you've 
made  it  easy." 

"Then  I  shall  be  very  happy  all  day,  Jim!" 

"Thank  you,  little  pal  —  au  revoir " 

He  left  her  waving  and  smiling  to  him  from  the 
steps.  He  walked  with  new  vigour  and  a  deepening 
sense  of  gratitude. 

Strange  what  a  gracious  influence  the  child  had  over 
him.  She  was  always  a  ray  of  sunlight.  This  morning 
the  touch  of  her  hand  and  the  thrill  of  her  voice  had 
brought  his  dead  soul  back  to  life  again.  His  breath 
deepened  and  his  step  grew  firm  and  swift. 

He  would  fight  for  his  own!  He  would  go  straight 
to  Nan  and  laugh  at  this  announcement.  He  would 
compel  her  to  hear  him.  It  was  an  absurd  hour  to 
call,  but  all  the  better.  The  more  absurd,  the  deeper 
impression  he  would  make  and  the  more  certain  would 
be  his  success.  He  had  written  a  note  before  —  she 
had  easily  returned  it  unopened.  She  would  find  it 
a  difficult  undertaking  to  get  him  out  of  the  house! 

Mrs.  Primrose's  greeting  was  so  cordial,  so  genuinely 
friendly,  that  for  a  moment  he  was  puzzled.  Could 
it  be  possible  he  had  misjudged  her?  Could  it  be 
possible  that  her  professions  of  love  and  admiration 
had  been  genuine?  His  hunger  for  sympathy  was  so 
keen,  his  sense  of  loneliness  in  his  fight  so  utter,  he 


Struggle  67 

could  not  help  allowing  himself  the  luxury  of  a 
momentary  doubt. 

She  pressed  his  hand  warmly  and  lingeringly. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come!  Why  have  you 
stayed  away  so  long?  It  was  so  foolish  of  you.  You 
gave  up  without  a  struggle.  I'm  shocked  beyond 
measure  at  Nan." 

Stuart's  heart  gave  a  bound  of  hope  and  he  looked 
with  fierce  earnestness  into  the  mother's  face.  It 
was  only  for  an  instant.  Her  eyes  roamed  and  shifted 
and  her  tongue  went  faster. 

"I  told  her  that  his  millions  would  never  bring 
happiness  unless  her  heart  went  with  them  —  that  her 
love  for  you  was  a  thing  she  couldn't  lay  aside  as  a 
cloak  she  had  worn." 

When  Mrs.  Primrose's  eyes  blinked  and  turned  away 
under  Stuart's  gaze,  he  knew  that  she  was  lying  again 
and  ceased  to  listen. 

"Well,  I  haven't  given  her  up  yet,  Mrs.  Primrose," 
he  said  bluntly. 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't,  Jim.  And  I  told  Nan  the 
day  she  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Bivens  that  you  were 
worth  a  dozen  such  men,  no  matter  how  many  millions 
he  had.  You  have  always  been  my  choice  —  you 
know  that.  How  she  could  throw  you  over  for  a  little 
scrap  of  a  man  like  that  is  beyond  me." 

Stuart  could  control  himself  no  longer.  He  rose  and 
faced  Mrs.  Primrose  with  a  look  which  brought  her 
eloquence  to  an  abrupt  end. 

"Mrs.  Primrose,  for  once  in  my  life  I  am  going  to 
tell  >ou  the  truth." 

"Why,  you  always  do  Jim,"   she  feebly  answered. 

"I  never  do.  Your  example  has  been  contagious. 
I've  had  to  play  out  the  farce  with  you.  To-day  I 
won't  play.  I'm  too  hurt,  angry,  wounded,  sore. 


68  The  Root  of  Evil 

You  have  always  been  my  bitterest  foe.  You  brought 
Nan  to  New  York  to  get  her  away  from  me." 

The  mother's  eyes  blazed  with  honest  wrath. 

"Yes,  I  did  —  and  I'm  glad  I  did  it  —  you  ungrateful 
wretch!" 

"And  you  have  always  been  busy  poisoning  her 
mind  against  me  and  corrupting  her  imagination  with 
dreams  of  a  life  of  luxury." 

"And  thank  God  I've  succeeded  at  last  in  bringing 
her  to  her  senses  in  time  to  save  her  from  throwing 
herself  away  on  you,  Jim  Stuart!" 

"Thank  you,  mother  dear,  we  understand  each 
other  now " 

"Don't  you  dare  call  me  mother,  sir!" 

"Why  not?  I'm  going  to  win  in  the  end,  and  you're 
on  my  side.  You  know  that  I'm  worth  a  dozen  such 
fellows  as  the  little  scrap  of  a  man  on  whom  she's 
about  to  throw  herself  away." 

"How  dare  you,  sir!" 

"Because  you've  just  told  me.  I'm  only  quoting 
your  words." 

As  Mrs.  Primrose  left  in  speechless  anger,  Nan  quietly 
entered  the  room.  Her  face  was  set  for  battle  in  a 
proud  defiant  smile.  She  was  totally  unprepared  for 
the  way  in  which  Stuart  met  her. 

With  a  quick  step  he  was  at  her  side,  seized  both  her 
hands  in  a  grip  of  fierce  tenderness  and  in  low  tones 
of  vibrant  passion  said: 

"This  thing  don't  go  with  me,  Nan.  I  won't  accept 
it.  I'm  going  to  fight  —  fight  for  my  own  —  for  you 
are  mine  —  mine  by  every  law  of  God  and  man,  and 
you  are  worth  fighting  for! " 

The  hard  smile  of  defiance  melted  from  the  beautiful 
face,  and  a  flush  of  tenderness  slowly  overspread  her 
cheeks.  It  was  sweet  to  be  loved  like  that  by  a  strong 


Struggle  69 

masterful  man.  One  of  the  things  that  had  stung  her 
pride  deepest  during  the  past  weeks  was  the  thought 
that  after  all  he  didn't  seem  to  care.  Now  that  she 
knew  how  deeply  he  cared,  her  heart  went  out  to  him 
in  instinctive  tender  response. 

"I  suppose,  then/'  she  began  slowly,  "I've  nothing 
to  do  but  agree  to  your  plan  of  action?" 

"That's  it  exactly,"  he  replied  firmly.  "How  could 
I  dream  that  you  would  regard  our  quarrel  so  seri 
ously  " 

She  started  to  speak,  and  he  raised  his  hand: 

"I  know,  dear,  you  said  our  engagement  was  broken. 
I  didn't  believe  you  meant  it.  I  couldn't.  I  was 
hurt  when  you  returned  my  note  unopened,  but  I 
watched  and  waited  every  hour  of  every  day  for  a 
word.  The  news  of  your  engagement  to  Bivens  came 
as  a  bolt  out  of  the  blue  sky.  I  refuse  to  accept 
such  an  act  as  final.  You  did  it  out  of  pique.  You 
don't  mean  it.  You  can't  mean  it!" 

"And  what  are  your  plans?" 

"I  told  you  the  other  day  I  had  a  surprise  for  you  — 
I  have.  It's  worth  a  day  —  you  promised  me  one 
in  the  country  before  our  foolish  quarrel.  I  want  it 
now.  You  will  come?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  said: 

"Yes." 

Within  an  hour  they  had  reached  the  hills  overlook 
ing  Gravesend  Bay,  and  the  magnificent  sweep  of 
water  below  the  Narrows.  Nan  had  scarcely  spoken 
on  the  way,  answering  Stuart's  questions  in  friendly 
nods,  smiles,  and  monosyllables. 

"Before  we  go  farther,"  Stuart  said  when  they  had 
left  the  car,  "I  want  to  show  you  a  model  home  a  friend 
of  mine  has  built  out  here.  It's  my  ideal,  and  I  think 
you'll  like  it." 


70  The  Root  of  Evil 

Nan  nodded  and  followed  his  long  strides  along  the 
narrow  path  of  a  single  flagstone  pavement  to  the 
crest  of  the  hill  which  sloped  to  the  water's  edge. 

As  they  entered  the  gate,  half  hidden  in  the  hedge, 
the  girl  exclaimed: 

"What  a  lovely  little  place!" 

A  gardener  who  was  watering  some  flowers,  on  a  sign 
from  Stuart  hastened  up  the  gravel  walk  and  opened 
the  door. 

Every  window  commanded  entrancing  views  of 
the  bay  and  ocean.  Every  ship  entering  or  leaving 
the  harbour  of  New  York  must  pass  close  and  could 
be  seen  for  miles  going  to  sea. 

When  Stuart  finally  led  Nan  out  on  the  broad  veranda 
of  the  second  floor,  she  wras  in  a  flutter  of  excitement 
over  the  perfection  of  its  details. 

"I  think  it's  wonderful,  Jim!"  she  exclaimed  with 
enthusiasm.  "I'd  like  to  congratulate  your  friend 
on  his  good  taste.  And  just  look  at  those  dear  little 
terraces  which  lead  down  to  the  boathouse —  on  one 
of  them  a  strawberry  bed,  on  the  other  a  garden,  on 
the  last  a  grape  arbor,  and  then  the  boathouse,  the 
wharf  — and  look — a  lovely  little  boat  tied  to  the  float — 
it's  just  perfect!" 

"And  this  outlook  over  bay  and  sea  and  towering 
hills  —  isn't  it  wonderful?"  he  asked  soberly — "the 
hills  and  sea  with  their  song  of  the  infinite  always 
ringing  in  one's  soul!" 

"It's  glorious,"  she  murmured.  "I've  never  seen 
anything  more  nearly  perfect.  Whose  is  it?" 

Stuart  looked  into  her  dark  eyes  with  desperate 
yearning. 

"It's  yours,  Nan!" 

"Mine?" 

"Yes,  dear,  this  is  my  secret.     I've  been  building 


Struggle  71 

this  home  for  you  the  past  year.  I've  put  all  the 
little  money  my  father  gave  me  with  every  dollar  I 
could  save.  It's  paid  for  and  here's  the  key.  I  meant 
to  ask  you  out  here  to  fix  our  wedding  day.  I  ask  you 
now.  Forget  the  nightmare  of  the  past  two  weeks 
and  remember  only  that  we  love  each  other!" 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  dim  for  a  moment  and  she  turned 
away  that  the  man  who  watched  might  not  know. 
Her  lips  quivered  for  just  an  instant,  and  her  hand 
gripped  the  rail  of  the  veranda. 

When  she  answered  it  was  with  a  light  banter  in 
her  tones  that  cut  Stuart's  heart  with  cruel  pain. 

"If  I'd  seen  it  four  weeks  ago,  Jim,  I  really  don't 
see  how  I  could  have  resisted  it  —  but  now"  —  she 
shook  her  head  and  laughed  —  "now  it's  too  late!" 

"My  God,  don't  say  that,  Nan!"  he  pleaded.  "It's 
never  too  late  to  do  right.  You  know  that  I  love  you. 
You  know  that  you  love  me." 

"But  I've  discovered,"  she  went  on  with  bantering, 
half  challenging  frankness,  "that  I  love  luxury,  too. 
I  never  knew  how  deeply  and  passionately  before  — " 
she  paused  a  moment,  looking  toward  Sea-Gate. 
"Isn't  that  the  anchorage  of  the  Atlantic  Yacht  Club?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  impatiently. 

"Then  that's  Mr.  Bivens's  yacht  —  the  big,  ugly 
black  one  lying  close  inshore  with  steam  up.  He 
told  me  he  would  send  her  into  dry  dock  to-day.  He 
was  talking  last  night  of  a  wedding  cruise  in  her  to 
the  Mediterranean.  I  confess,  Jim,  that  I  want  to 
shine,  to  succeed,  and  dazzle,  and  reign.  Every  am 
bitious  man  has  this  desire.  Why  shouldn't  I?  You 
say  I  have  rare  beauty.  Well,  I  wish  to  express  my 
self.  It's  a  question  of  common  sense.  Marriage 
is  my  only  career.  This  man's  conquest  was  so  easy 
it  startled  me  and  I  came  down  out  of  the  clouds.  I 


72  The  Root  of  Evil 

don't  know  a  girl  in  New  York  to-day  who  has  youth 
and  beauty  who  does  not  in  her  soul  of  souls  aspire  to 
the  highest  rank  and  the  greatest  wealth.  This  is 
perhaps  the  one  chance  of  my  life " 

"Do  you  hold  yourself  so  cheap?" 

"You  see  I'm  not  so  prejudiced  an  observer  as  you, 
Jim.  I've  looked  the  facts  squarely  in  the  face.  You 
can't  realize  how  much  the  power  of  millions  means  to 
a  woman  who  chafes  at  the  limitations  the  world  puts 
on  her  sex.  My  imagination  has  been  set  on  fire  by 
dreams  of  splendour  and  power.  It's  too  late " 

"Don't,  don't  say  it,  Nan!" 

"Why  not  be  frank?  This  little  cottage  is  a  gem,  I 
admit.  But  I've  seen  a  splendid  palace  set  in  flowers 
and  gleaming  with  subdued  light.  Soft  music  steals 
through  its  halls  mingled  with  the  laughter  of  throngs 
who  love  and  admire  me.  Its  banquet  tables  are 
laden  with  the  costliest  delicacies,  while  liveried  serv 
ants  hurry  to  and  fro  with  plates  and  goblets  of  gold! 
And  all  this  wild  dream,  Jim,  seems  real,  a  part  of  my 
very  life.  Perhaps  somewhere  in  another  world  my 
spirit  lived  in  such  surroundings " 

"Perhaps,"  Stuart  interrupted  bitterly,  "in  the 
breast  of  a  cruel,  merciless  half-savage  princess  who 
killed  her  lover  to  win  a  throne " 

Nan  suddenly  grasped  his  arm. 

"What  are  you  saying!" 

"Only  interpreting  your  dream." 

"You  mustn't  say  horrible  things  like  that  to  me. 
It's  bad  enough,  God  knows,  when  I  face  it.  But  at 
least  I'm  not  a  murderess." 

"I'm  not  at  all  sure,"  he  persisted,  with  desperation. 
"That  a  girl  who  can  deliberately  kill  the  soul  of  the 
man  who  loves  her,  might  not  kill  his  body  if  put  to 
the  test " 


Struggle  73 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Jim,  if  you  do  love  me  don't 
say  such  things!  I'll  never  forget  them!  I  can't 
help  it  —  I've  got  to  do  this.  The  spell  is  on  me,  and 
I  must " 

Stuart  seized  her  arm  with  fierce  strength  that  hurt. 

"Then  I'll  break  the  spell.  You  shall  not  do  this 
hideous  thing.  You  are  mine,  I  tell  you,  and  I  am 
bigger  than  money.  I  have  the  power  to  think,  to 
create  ideas,  to  create  beauty  —  the  power  that  re 
makes  the  world.  I  expect  to  have  all  the  money  we 
shall  need.  In  the  years  to  come  we  shall  be  rich  whether 
we  seek  it  or  not.  But  the  sweetest  days  of  all  life  will 
be  those  in  which  we  fight  side  by  side  the  first  battles 
of  life  in  youth  and  poverty  when  we  shall  count  the 
pennies  and  save  with  care  for  the  little  ones  God  may 
send  us!  With  your  sweet  face  bending  above  me  and 
the  touch  of  your  hand,  the  highest  success  is  sure. 
Marry  me  now.  Here  is  your  home.  We  don't  need 
to  be  rich  to  be  happy  —  a  loving  heart,  generous 
sympathies,  comradeship,  high  ambitions,  strong  young 
bodies  and  clean  souls  —  and  the  angels  will  envy  us!" 

"But  life  is  short,  Jim!  I  can  have  things  now. 
He  has  already  promised  them  —  a  palace  in  town, 
another  by  the  sea,  a  great  castle  in  the  heart  of  the 
blue  southern  mountains  we  used  to  watch  as  children, 
and  armies  of  servants  to  do  my  bidding  —  I  can  live 
now!" 

"And  you  call  these  trappings  and  tinsel  life?" 

"I  want  them." 

"My  God,  Nan,  haven't  you  a  soul?  Hasn't  the 
life  within  no  meaning  for  you?  To  me  such  luxury  is 
sheer  insanity.  The  possibilities  of  personal  luxury  have 
been  exhausted  thousands  of  years  ago.  It's  common 
place,  vulgar,  and  contemptible.  If  you  wish  for  power 
why  choose  the  lowest  of  all  its  forms?  The  way  you 


74  The  Root  of  Evil 

are  entering  is  worn  bare  by  the  feet  of  millions  of 
forgotten  fools  whose  bodies  worms  have  eaten.  Not 
one  of  them  lives  to-day  even  in  a  footnote  of 
history.  They  sailed  no  unknown  seas.  They  con 
quered  no  new  worlds.  They  merely  got  dollars,  spent 
them  and  died." 

"And  yet,  Jim,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  money 
is  the  sign  of  success  and  power;  its  absence,  of  failure 
and  weakness." 

"To  those  who  see  the  surface  of  things  only  —  oh. 
Nan,  why  have  you  let  this  brood  of  black-winged  bats 
build  their  nest  in  your  heart?  —  this  greed,  this 
avarice,  this  envy  of  the  rich " 

The  girl  lifted  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"You  persist  in  misunderstanding  me.  Why  should 
your  desire  for  power  be  called  high  ambition,  and 
mine  a  vulgar  avarice?  If  you  make  a  mistake  in 
your  career,  you  can  correct  it  and  begin  again.  Being 
a  woman  I  cannot,  for  marriage  is  my  only  career.  A 
mistake  now  would  be  to  me  fatal." 

"And  you  are  making  the  one  tragic  mistake  no 
repentance  can  undo.  You  are  choosing  to  com 
mit  the  one  unpardonable  sin  —  the  sin  against  the 
Spirit." 

"And  what,  pray,  is  that?" 

"The  deliberate  choice  of  evil,  knowing  it  to  be 
evil.  Your  heart  is  mine  —  mine,  I  tell  you!  Do  you 
deny  it?" 

Again  he  seized  her  hand,  gripped  it  fiercely,  and 
looked  into  her  eyes  with  tender,  searching  gaze. 

Nan  looked  away. 

"Oh,  Nan,  dear,  believe  me,"  he  pleaded.  "You 
can't  deny  this  voice  within  the  soul  and  live!  Happi 
ness  is  inside,  not  outside,  dear.  You  say  you  want 
to  own  a  castle  on  a  mountain  side.  You  can't  do  it 


Struggle  75 

by  holding  a  deed  and  paying  taxes  on  it.  I  can  own 
it  without  a  deed.  I  haven't  a  million,  but  I  own  this 
great  city.  This  mighty  harbour  is  mine.  That's 
why  I  built  our  little  home  nest  here  on  the  hill  over 
looking  it.  It's  all  mine  —  these  miles  of  shining 
ocean  sands,  the  sea,  and  these  landlocked  waters. 
The  great  city  that  stretches  northward,  its  miles  of 
gleaming  lights  that  will  come  out  to-night  and  dim 
the  stars,  the  hum  and  thrill  of  its  life,  the  laughter  and 
the  tears,  the  joys  and  the  fears  —  are  all  mine  be 
cause  I  see  and  hear  and  feel  and  understand!  Nor 
can  the  tax  gatherer  put  his  hand  on  my  wealth.  It's 
beyond  his  touch. " 

The  girl's  spirit  was  caught  at  last  in  the  grip  of  his 
passionate  appeal,  and  her  rebellion  ceased  for  the 
moment  as  she  watched  and  listened  with  increasing 
sympathy. 

" Beauty  is  always  a  thing  of  the  soul,  Nan,"  he 
rushed  on.  "The  things  we  possess  are  signs  of  the 
spirit  or  we  don't  possess  them  —  they  possess  us. 
The  dress  you  wear  expresses  something  within  you 
when  it  fits  your  beautiful  body  so  perfectly.  The 
mere  possession  of  houses  and  lands  and  things  has 
no  meaning  unless  they  reveal  us.  If  they  merely 
express  the  labour  of  an  ancestor,  the  mind  of  an  archi 
tect  or  the  genius  of  a  manager,  we  are  only  intruders 
on  the  scene,  not  the  creator  and  therefore  the  possessor 
of  the  beauty  we  aim  at.  A  home,  a  dress,  are  symbols, 
or  nothing  but  goods  and  chattels.  I  have  seen  you 
wear  dresses  made  by  your  own  hand  that  revealed 
a  whole  conception  of  life  and  hats  that  were  poems. 
The  dress  you  wear  to-day  is  perfect  because  it  expresses 
you.  The  clothes  of  a  millionaire's  wife  have  no  mean 
ing  except  conformity  to  fashion  and  the  expenditure 
of  vast  sums  of  money.  The  poetic  taste,  the  subtle 


76  The  Root  of  Evil 

mystery  of  personality  which  you  put  into  your  dress 
have  always  been  a  joy  to  me." 

In  spite  of  her  fierce  determination  to  give  no  re 
sponse  to  his  appeal  her  fingers  instinctively  tightened 
on  the  hand  which  had  seized  hers.  His  own  pressed 
with  new  courage  and  he  went  on. 

"Bivens  may  think  he  owns  that  big  black  hulk  lying 
out  there  belching  smoke  from  her  huge  funnels.  But 
he  only  pays  the  bills  to  keep  her  going.  It  takes 
fifty  men  to  run  her.  I  have  a  little  sloop  with  a  cabin 
for  two.  She  cost  me  fifteen  hundred  dollars  and  I 
own  her,  because  I  dreamed  every  rib  in  her  body, 
every  rivet,  every  line  of  her  graceful  form.  I  created 
her  and  gave  her  a  soul.  I  feel  the  beat  of  her  proud 
little  heart  in  the  storm  and  the  soft  touch  of  her  sleepy 
wings  in  the  calm.  She  is  part  of  the  rhythm  of  my 
life. 

"It  is  not  money  that  gives  value  or  ownership  to 
things.  You  can  only  own  that  which  expresses  you. 
For  that  reason  you  cannot  own  the  palaces  of  which 
you  dream.  Their  service  will  require  a  hundred 
thieving  hirelings  whose  very  names  you  cannot  know. 
This  house  is  mine  because  I  have  built  it  as  a  work 
of  love  and  art  and  expressed  myself  in  it  with  infinite 
tenderness  and  infinite  pains.  It  is  not  a  palace  in 
size,  but  it  is  a  palace,  glorious  and  wonderful,  in  a 
deeper  spiritual  sense,  because  it  is  a  poem.  Every 
spar  of  wood  in  it  is  perfect  of  its  kind.  Every  stone 
in  it  is  a  gem  because  it  is  the  right  thing  in  the  right 
place.  There  isn't  a  shoddy  bit  of  material  or  a  slip 
shod  piece  of  work  from  the  green  tile  in  its  roof  to  the 
stone  boulders  on  which  it  rests.  It  will  last  our  lives 
and  generations  to  follow.  The  very  mortar  between 
the  bricks  and  the  cement  between  the  stones  are 
perfect  because  they  were  mixed  with  tears  of  joy  that 


Struggle  77 

bubbled  from  my  heart  as  I  stood  here,  watched  and 
sang  my  love  for  you " 

The  lover  paused  a  moment,  overcome  with  his 
emotion,  and  he  knew  by  the  quick  rising  and  falling 
of  the  girPs  breast  that  a  battle  was  raging. 

Quick  to  see  his  advantage  he  drew  her  gently  inside. 

"See,  Nan,  there  are  no  cheap  imitations  in  here, 
no  vulgar  ornaments  which  mean  nothing.  There 
has  been  no  copying  of  models.  These  rooms  I  planned 
with  your  spirit,  dearest,  hovering  over  me,  and  each 
one  has  its  little  surprise  —  a  nook,  a  turn,  a  window 
opening  unexpectedly  on  its  entrancing  view.  The 
ornaments  on  its  walls  will  grow  as  we  grow  —  pictures 
we  shall  find  and  always  love,  and  tapestries  your  own 
dear  hands  shall  paint.  This  home  will  be  a  real  one 
because  it  will  have  a  soul.  There  can  be  no  coarse 
or  menial  tasks  within  its  walls  because  its  work  shall 
be  glorified  by  the  old  immortal  song  of  love  and 
life." 

Stuart  leaned  close  and  spoke  in  a  low  tense  voice: 

"And  it  will  always  be  beautiful,  Nan,  because  it 
will  be  penetrated  with  the  touch  of  your  hand.  Every 
piece  of  furniture  will  glow  with  that  radiance.  Gold 
and  precious  stones  can  have  no  such  lustre.  See, 
here  I  have  planned  to  place  your  piano.  There  will 
be  no  music  on  earth  like  the  songs  those  throbbing 
strings  shall  make  to  my  soul  when  they  quiver  be 
neath  the  touch  of  your  hand.  Here  on  this  seat  I 
shall  lie  by  the  window,  looking  out  over  the  sea, 
dream  and  think  great  thoughts  of  life  and  death  and 
immortality  while  you  play  for  me.  And  with  each 
passing  year,  dearest,  the  songs  that  you  sing  will  be 
deeper  and  richer  and  more  and  more  full  of  divine 
meaning." 

The  lover  slipped  his  arm  gently  around  the  girl's 


78  The  Root  of  Evil 

yielding  form,  her  head  drooped  on  his  shoulder,  the 
great  dark  eyes  blinded  with  tears.  For  a  moment 
he  held  her  in  silence  broken  only  by  a  deep  sob. 
His  hand  touched  her  hair  with  the  tenderest  gesture 
as  he  whispered: 

"We  can  only  know  a  few  real  friends  in  this  world, 
dearest  —  but  one  great  love  comes  to  any  human 
soul,  and  life  is  all  too  short  to  lose  a  single  day " 

"Hush  —  hush!  Jim/'  the  girl  cried  in  anguish, 
"don't  say  any  more,  please!" 

"Tell  me  that  it's  all  right,  dear,"  he  urged.  "You 
know  you  cannot  leave  me  now.  You  know  that  you 
love  me  and  that  your  love  is  a  deathless  thing." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  gasped.  "But  I'm  going 
to  marry  him!  I  can't  help  it.  The  spell  of  his  mil 
lions  is  on  me  and  I  can't  shake  it  off!" 

So  sure  was  Stuart  of  victory,  Nan's  outburst  made 
no  impression  on  his  mind.  He  continued  to  soothe 
her  as  he  would  a  tired  child. 

"Of  course  I  know  you  don't  mean  that  —  you  are 
only  reproaching  the  imaginary  girl  who  betrayed  her 
love  for  money.  The  real  Nan  is  sobbing  here  in  my 
arms  —  mine  forever " 

With  a  determined  effort  she  drew  herself  from  his 
embrace  and  in  hard  cold  tones  said: 

"No.  Jim,  you  must  face  the  truth.  I  am  going 
to  marry  this  man,  and  the  most  horrible  thing  I  can 
say  about  myself  is  that,  deeply  as  I  love  you,  I  know 
I  shall  be  content  with  the  splendid  career  that  will 
be  mine.  I  shall  never  regret  my  marriage. " 

The  lover  looked  at  her  in  a  dazed  way  as  if  unable 
to  grasp  the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"Nan,"  he  cried  at  last,  "you  can't  mean  that!" 

"I  do." 

"But  you  can't  do  this  vile  thing.     Since  the  world 


Struggle  79 

began  I  know  that  vain,  weak,  ignorant  women  have 
sold  themselves  to  men  they  could  not  love,  for  money, 
rank  and  luxury.  But  you  are  not  of  that  breed,  Nan. 
You  are  not  weak,  you  are  not  ignorant.  You  are 
strong  in  body  and  soul,  with  high  aims  and  the 
inheritance  of  rich  blood  in  your  veins. 

"You  are  the  typical  American  girl,  the  daughter 
of  the  line  of  men  and  women  who  have  made  this 
Republic  the  glory  of  the  world  —  women  whose  hearts 
have  been  pure,  whose  lives  have  been  clean,  who 
have  kept  burning  in  the  hearts  of  men  the  great  faiths 
of  the  soul.  Respect  for  this  woman  has  been  one  of 
the  foundations  of  our  moral  life.  In  the  worship 
I  have  paid  you,  there  has  been  more  than  the  charm 
of  sex,  there  has  been  always  this  instinctive  recogni 
tion  of  the  divine.  Are  you  going  to  kill  my  faith 
in  God?  The  woman  who  sells  herself  to  buy  bread, 

stands  higher  in  the  moral  world  than  you " 

He  hesitated. 

"Go  on,  Jim,  say  the  worst.  And  still  I'm  going 
to  do  it." 

"Knowing  full  well  that  no  ceremony  of  Church 
or  State,  no  words  of  priest  or  judge,  no  pealing  of 
organ,  or  pomp  or  pageantry  can  make  this  thing  a 
marriage?  There  is  but  one  vile  word  in  the  English 
tongue  that  fits  the  woman " 

Nan  straightened  her  figure  with  a  smile  of  defiance : 

"Say  it!" 

The  lover  dropped  in  silence  to  the  window  seat  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  in  a  paroxysm  of  emotion 
beyond  control. 

At  length  he  rose  and  looked  at  the  girl  he  loved  long 
and  tenderly. 

"  God  in  heaven !  It's  inconceivable,  when  I  look  into 
your  beautiful  face!  Have  you  no  pity  in  your  heart?  " 


8o  The  Root  of  Evil 

The  full  lips  smiled  a  cruel  little  smile. 

"Men  are  strong,  Jim.  They  can  stand  hard  blows. 
You  come  of  fighting  stock.  I  know  that  you  will 
survive " 

"And  the  solemn  pledge  of  love  and  loyalty  we  gave 
to  each  other  —  this  means  nothing  to  you?" 

"Our  engagement  was  informal.  The  world  knew 
nothing  of  it." 

"No,  but  God  knew,  Nan,  and  our  young  souls  were 
their  own  witness." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hurt  you,  Jim.  But  I  must  —  it's 
fate;  the  big  world,  I  somehow  feel  I'm  akin  to,  is 
calling  me  and  I'm  going " 

"And  Bivens  is  this  big  world!  If  you  will  throw 
me  over  for  money,  can't  you  wait  until  a  real  man  goes 
with  it?  It  wouldn't  be  so  bad  if  I  felt  you  had  chosen 
one  who  was  my  equal  physically  and  mentally  in 
culture  and  breeding  —  but  Bivens!" 

"You  underestimate  his  ability.  You  may  hate 
him  —  but  he  is  a  man  of  genius." 

"He  is  everything  you  loathe,  and  yet  you  are  going 
to  marry  him.  Great  God!  don't  you  understand 
what  a  close,  intimate,  personal  thing  marriage  is! 
You  are  the  most  fastidious  girl  I  have  ever  known. 
The  ceremony  with  which  you  keep  your  beautiful 
body  is  a  religion.  Bivens  is  physically  everything 
you  despise.  His  teeth  are  yellow  with  nicotine,  and  his 
lips  cracked  and  stained  with  tobacco.  With  every 
quivering  fibre  of  your  delicate  and  sensitive  being  you 
know  that  you  loathe  him.  And  yet  you  are  going 
to  give  your  body  to  be  his  —  without  reserve  —  you, 
the  delicate,  the  exquisite  beauty  —  you  who  worship 
your  dainty  body  in  a  mirror  daily.  God  —  have 
you  no  real  reverence  for  your  own  being?" 

"No,  Jim,"  she  interrupted  at  last,  with  deep  pity 


Struggle  8 1 

in  her  heart  for  his  suffering,  "I  don't  think  I  have, 
and  it's  better  so  after  all.  I'll  never  love  another, 
I  shall  not  try." 

"Then  if  you  will  sell  yourself,  Nan,  dear,  let's  make 
a  better  bargain  —  wait !  You  are  giving  up  too 
easily.  Bivens  has  only  a  couple  of  millions,  and  he 
may  lose  them.  Don't  hold  yourself  so  cheap.  If 
you  were  on  the  block  for  sale  I'd  give  a  million  for 
each  dimple  in  your  cheek.  That  pile  of  glorious 
black  hair  is  worth  a  million  —  I'd  give  it  without 
haggling  at  the  price!  Come,  let's  have  more  bids! 
The  smile  that  plays  about  your  lips  should  bring 
millions.  The  arch  of  your  proud  young  neck  should 
add  another  —  and  your  deep  dark  eyes,  I  swear  are 
worth  a  million  each." 

Stuart's  voice  had  grown  husky  and  sank  into  a 
sob  as  she  placed  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  gently  said: 

"Hush,  Jim,  dear,  we  must  go  now.  I  can't  stand 
any  more.  I've  let  you  go  on  like  this  and  say  any 
thing  you  pleased  because  I'm  heartsick  to  see  how 
cruelly  I've  hurt  you  —  but  there's  a  limit." 

"Yes,  I  know,  forgive  me." 

Without  another  word  he  led  her  from  the  place, 
closed  the  little  gate  quietly  and  returned  to  her  home. 

Alone  inside  the  parlour  they  stood  in  silence  a 
moment  and  she  took  his  hand  in  hers. 

"I'm  sorry,  but  it  must  be  good-bye.  Your  love 
has  been  a  sweet  and  wonderful  thing  in  my  life " 

"And  you  throw  it  aside  as  a  worthless  rag." 

"No,"  she  answered  smiling.  "It  shall  be  mine 
always  —  good-bye." 

She  raised  her  lips  to  his  in  a  cold  kiss. 

Dazed  with  anguish,  he  turned  and  left.  The  door 
closed  on  his  retreating  figure,  and  Nan  sank  among 
the  cushions  and  burst  into  a  flood  of  passionate  tears. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DESPAIR 

To  the  very  dawn  of  Nan's  wedding  day  Stuart  had 
refused  to  give  up  hope. 

The  little  financier  had  sent  him  an  invitation,  and 
worst  of  all  had  called  to  ask  that  he  act  as  his  best  man. 
He  refused  so  curtly  that  Bivens  was  deeply  wounded. 
He  hastened  to  soothe  his  feelings  with  a  plausible 
explanation. 

"The  fact  is,  Bivens,  I've  always  hated  church 
funerals  and  weddings  —  of  the  two  I  prefer  funer 
als " 

"  Nonsense!" 

"I  assure  you  I'm  not  joking.  Those  long  hideous 
veils  and  white  shroud-like  dresses  to  me  always 
symbolize  Death.  The  pallor  of  the  bride's  face 
perhaps  adds  to  my  delusion  —  but  it's  painfully  real. 
I  never  go  to  a  church  wedding.  The  apparition 
haunts  me  for  days." 

Bivens  smiled  wanly. 

"But  what  will  you  do  when  your  time  comes,  old 
man?  You  can't  run  away  then." 

"That's  just  what  I  will  do  —  run  away  and  take 
my  girl  with  me.  We'll  elope  and  be  married  in  street 
clothes.  It's  more  human." 

While  he  spoke,  Stuart's  eyes  suddenly  sparkled 
with  the  thought  that  his  words,  spoken  in  jest,  might 
be  a  prophecy  of  what  could  really  happen.  It  had 
happened  again  and  again.  The  miracle  might  hap 
pen  to  him. 

82 


Despair  83 

"But  I  say,  Jim,  that's  all  rot.  I  want  you  to  stand 
by  me.  I've  always  taken  as  much  of  your  friendship 
as  you  would  give  and  been  grateful  for  it.  I  don't 
make  new  friends  easily.  I  want  you,  and  you've  just 
got  to  do  it." 

Stuart  shook  his  head  and  firmly  set  his  jaws.  A 
grim  temptation  flashed  through  his  imagination.  If 
he  should  accept,  it  might  be  the  one  thing  which  would 
prevent  Nan's  betrayal  of  her  love  at  the  altar.  Might 
he  not  by  the  power  of  his  personality,  the  hypnotic 
force  of  his  yearning  passion  and  will,  stop  the  ceremony? 
In  the  moment  of  deathlike  silence  which  should  fol 
low  the  minister's  words  asking  if  there  were  any  cause 
known  why  these  two  should  not  be  made  one,  might 
not  a  single  movement  of  his  body  at  that  moment, 
a  groan  of  pain,  a  sob,  a  cry  of  agony  in  a  supreme  act 
of  his  will,  cause  the  white  figure  to  reel  and  fall  at  his 
feet?  It  was  possible. 

But  it  would  be  too  cheap.  It  would  be  a  worthless 
victory,  a  victory  of  the  flesh  without  the  spirit  —  and 
he  refused  to  take  the  body  without  the  soul. 

With  a  frown  he  turned  to  Bivens: 

"It's  no  use  talking,  Cal,  I've  made  up  my  mind. 
I  won't  do  it." 

"Well,  if  you  won't,  you  won't,"  the  little  man  said 
with  a  sigh.  "At  least  you'll  come  to  the  church. 
For  God's  sake  let  me  get  a  glimpse  of  one  friendly 
face.  I'll  be  scared  to  death.  You  know  I'm  not  used 
to  this." 

Stuart  smiled: 

"All  right,  I'll  be  there." 

"And  a  seat,  Jim,  where  I  can  see  you.  I  want  a 
friend  near  the  door  when  I  start,  or  I'll  never  make 
it  —  I'll  drop  on  the  way.  You  won't  fail?' ' 

"No.     You  can  depend  on  me." 


84  The  Root  of  Evil 

As  Bivens  closed  the  door  the  young  lawyer  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"What  a  farce  our  lives  become  sometimes.  If  we 
could  all  see  behind  the  scenes  would  there  be  a  single 
illusion  left  —  I  wonder?" 

His  memory  rested  with  bitterness  on  the  fact  that 
he  had  feared  to  lift  the  curtain  on  Nan's  character 
at  one  point  in  their  final  struggle  over  this  marriage. 
He  had  fought  with  desperation  to  win  and  hold  her 
heart,  but  he  had  fought  fairly.  There  had  always  been 
a  way  —  he  might  have  won  by  the  sacrifice  of  character. 
He  had  not  offered  to  yield  his  ideal,  accept  her  views, 
and  change  his  life  purpose.  The  act  would  have  been 
dishonourable  only  to  his  own  sense  of  right.  He 
would  have  done  exactly  what  Bivens  asked.  He 
had  never  questioned  this  decision  to  the  day  of  her 
wedding.  But  when  the  fateful  morning  came  he  was 
stunned  by  the  feeling  of  incredible  despair  which 
crept  into  his  heart.  The  day  was  chill  and  damp. 
Dull,  grayish,  half -black  clouds  rolled  over  the  city 
from  the  sea  —  clouds  that  hung  low  and  wet  over 
the  cold  pavements  without  breaking  into  rain. 

He  knew  that  Nan  was  as  superstitious  as  the  old 
black  mammy  of  the  South  who  had  nursed  her.  Aunt 
Sallie  had  come  to  New  York  for  the  wedding  of  her 
"baby,"  and  Stuart  could  hear  her  now  crooning  over 
the  sayings  of  wedding  days: 

"Marry  in  May  you'll  rue  the  day;  marry  in  Lent 
you'll  live  to  repent " 

"Monday  for  wealth,  Tuesday  for  health,  Wednes 
day  best  of  all;  Thursday  for  crosses,  Friday  for  losses, 
and  Saturday  no  luck  at  all."  It  was  Monday,  and  Nan 
must  have  known  it  when  she  fixed  the  day  —  but 
there  was  another  important  saying  he  recalled  now: 

"Happy  is  the  bride  the  sun  shines  on " 


Despair  85 

Perhaps  these  lowering  clouds  and  the  coming  storm 
might  cause  her  to  hesitate  and  postpone  the  marriage. 
All  morning  he  sat  brooding  by  his  window,  watching 
the  swaying  branches  of  the  trees  in  the  Square  —  and 
though  he  knew  at  best  that  he  was  a  fool — confidently 
expecting  the  miracle  of  a  message.  As  the  hour  of 
noon  approached,  despair  slowly  settled  over  his  heart. 

How  could  he  reconcile  himself  to  the  horrible  reality? 
This  woman  and  the  dreams  of  her  had  become  part 
of  his  very  being.  The  memory  of  his  hopes  began  to 
strangle  him  —  the  wonderful  life  they  were  to  live 
together,  whose  pictured  scenes  stretched  out  now  be 
fore  him  —  of  home,  of  love,  of  motherhood  and  father 
hood  hallowed  by  adoration,  the  pain,  the  glory,  the 
passion,  the  tenderness,  the  sanctity,  the  mystery  of 
it  all  —  and  this  the  end.  A  marriage  sordid,  cold, 
vulgar  to  such  a  man  —  this  little  tobacco-stained, 
bead-eyed  weasel. 

And  she  had  talked  to  him  about  her  career.  As 
if  she  didn't  know  that  the  career  of  any  woman  was 
immeasurably  grander  than  that  of  any  man  —  if  she 
fulfil  her  destiny  that  links  her  to  God  in  the  creation 
of  a  child  —  a  being  whose  simple  word  may  mould 
a  million  wills  and  change  the  fate  of  centuries  —  and 
yet  she  had  deliberately  strangled  her  soul  and  chosen 
this  little  pig,  who  rooted  in  the  dirt  for  gold,  to  be  the 
father  of  her  children. 

He  rose,  breathing  hard  and  brushed  a  tear  from  his 
eye  —  a  tear  that  had  come  unbidden  in  spite  of  his 
iron  will. 

He  wished  he  had  not  made  the  foolish  promise  to 
Bivens.  He  knew  now  that  he  had  never  really  be 
lieved  he  would  have  to  keep  it.  And  yet  the  day  had 
come  and  the  hour  had  struck,  and  no  miracle  had  been 
wrought. 


86  The  Root  of  Evil 

He  walked  with  leaden  steps  through  Tenth  Street 
to  Broadway,  stopped  and  gazed  for  a  moment  on  the 
graceful  spire  of  the  church  before  whose  altar  Nan 
would  soon  stand  and  perjure  herself  for  money.  How 
could  she!  He  had  long  felt  that  in  every  true  man's 
religion  was  a  supreme  belief  in  himself  —  in  a  woman's, 
faith  in  some  one  else.  He  knew  that  she  believed  in  him, 
not  in  the  man  to  whom  she  was  surrendering  herself. 
And  yet  she  wished  to  consummate  this  act  of  blas 
phemy  —  in  the  House  of  God  before  His  high  altar. 

"Why?     Why?     Why?" 

His  heart  fairly  shrieked  its  cry  of  despair.  He 
moved  mechanically  toward  the  church  and  waked 
from  his  reverie  to  find  himself  jammed  in  a  solid  mass 
of  humanity.  Never  before  had  he  realized  the  utter 
vulgarity  of  a  public  wedding.  Why  should  any  one 
wish  a  crowd  of  curious  fools  to  witness  even  the  happi 
est  wedding?  Its  meaning  is  surely  frank  enough 
without  shouting  it  from  the  housetops.  Should  not 
its  joys  and  mystery  be  something  too  shy  and  sweet 
and  holy  for  a  vulgar  crowd  of  strangers  to  gaze  on? 
And  stripped  of  the  sanctity  of  love,  this  ceremony 
becomes  merely  a  calling  of  a  mob  to  witness  the  sale 
of  a  woman's  body.  There  could  be  no  illusions  about 
the  fact  and  it  was  hideous. 

He  forced  his  way  into  the  side  door  and  stood  wait 
ing  the  arrival  of  the  bride  and  groom.  When  Bivens 
came,  the  sight  of  him  roused  the  slumbering  devil  in 
Stuart.  The  excitement  of  his  triumph  had  evidently 
steadied  the  little  man's  nerves.  His  yellow  teeth 
were  shining  in  a  broad  grin,  and  from  his  piercing  eyes 
there  flashed  the  conscious  success  of  the  adventurer. 
His  fine  clothes  and  well-groomed  body  gave  him 
dignity..  Never  had  his  shrimp-like  figure  looked  so 
slippery  and  plausible. 


Despair  87 

He  extended  his  slender  hand  and  touched  Stuart's 
in  passing.  To  save  his  life  the  lawyer  could  not 
repress  a  shudder.  In  that  moment  he  could  have 
committed  murder  with  joy.  The  agony  of  defeat 
was  on  him. 

He  knew  he  could  beat  this  man  in  every  fair  fight 
with  his  bare  hands  or  with  equal  weapons.  And  yet 
there  he  was  carrying  off  with  a  grin  before  his  very 
eyes  the  woman  he  loved.  He  felt  in  that  moment 
his  kinship  with  all  the  rebels  and  disinherited  of  the 
earth. 

At  last  the  bride  came  and  the  surpliced  choir  moved 
slowly  and  solemnly  down  the  aisles  through  a  sea  of 
eager  faces  as  the  great  organ  pealed  forth  the  first  bars 
of  the  wedding  march  from  " Lohengrin." 

Nan  was  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  stranger  he  had 
never  seen  before  —  an  uncle  from  the  West.  She 
was  pale  —  deathly  pale  and  walked  with  a  hesitat 
ing  movement  as  though  weak  from  illness.  Sud 
denly  his  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  flood  of  pity  and 
tenderness.  He  tried  to  make  her  feel  this,  but  she 
passed  without  a  glance.  She  had  not  seen  him.  The 
procession  moved  slowly  back  to  the  altar,  and  a  solemn 
hush  fell  on  the  throng. 

Stuart  listened  to  the  ceremony  with  a  vague  imper 
sonal  interest,  as  if  it  were  something  going  on  in  an 
other  world. 

A  single  question  was  burning  itself  into  his  brain  — 
the  price  of  a  woman! 

"Have  we  all  our  price?"  he  asked,  searching  deep 
into  his  own  soul.  Something  pathetic  in  the  white 
face  of  the  bride  had  touched  the  deepest  sources  of 
his  being. 

"Have  I,  too,  my  price,  oh,  boastful  soul?"  he  cried. 
"Would  I  sell  my  honour  for  a  million?  No.  For 


88  The  Root  of  Evil 

ten,  fifty,  a  hundred  millions?  No  —  not  in  the  market 
place,  no  —  but  would  I  sell  by  a  compromise  of  prin 
ciple  in  the  secret  conclave  of  my  party  —  at  a  sale  the 
world  could  never  know  —  would  I  sell  for  the  Presi 
dency  of  the  Republic?  Or  would  I  sell  now  to  win 
this  woman?  Would  I?  Would  I?  If  so,  I  should 
hold  her  blameless.  Have  all  men  and  all  women  a 
price  if  we  but  name  it?  Answer!  Answer!'7  And 
then  from  the  depths  of  his  being  came  the  burning 
words : 

"No.     By  God,  I  swear  it.     No!" 

He  looked  up  with  a  start,  wondering  vaguely  if 
the  crowd  had  heard  this  cry  from  something  inside 
which  he  knew  in  that  moment  was  bigger  than  the 
world  without. 

No,  they  were  intent  on  the  drama  at  the  altar. 
The  minister  was  saying: 

"With  this  ring  I  thee  wed — "  he  couldn't  see,  but 
he  knew  the  ring  was  being  placed  on  the  third  finger 
of  the  left  hand  —  chosen  by  tradition  because  a  vein  of 
blood  was  supposed  to  run  direct  from  that  finger  to 
the  heart  —  what  a  solemn  farce ! 

And  now  he  was  saying: 

"What  God  hath  joined  together  —  let  not  man 
put  asunder " 

"'God!'  Surely  he  didn't  say 'God,'"  Stuart  brooded. 
"Does  God,  the  august,  mysterious,  awful  creator 
of  the  universe,  work  like  this?  Did  not  the  God  of 
heaven  and  earth  give  this  woman  to  him  beneath  the 
sunny  skies  of  the  South  while  their  souls  sang  for 
joy?" 

They  were  moving  again  down  the  aisle,  the  organ 
throbbing  the  recessional  from  Mendelssohn.  A  wave 
of  emotion  swept  the  crowd  inside  and  they  be 
came  a  mob  of  vulgar,  chattering,  gossiping  fools 


Despair  89 

swarming  over  the  church  as  if  it  were  the  grandstand 
of  a  racecourse,  without  hesitation  tearing  down  and 
stealing  its  decorations  for  souvenirs. 

When  Stuart  reached  the  door  it  was  pouring  rain. 
He  was  glad  of  it.  The  splash  of  the  rain  in  his  face 
was  refreshing  and  the  breath  of  the  storm  was  good. 
He  walked  for  an  hour  facing  the  wind,  not  knowing 
or  caring  where  it  might  lead. 

By  a  curious  law  of  reaction,  all  resentment  and 
anger  were  gone,  and  only  a  great  pity  for  Nan  began 
to  fill  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  X 

• 

GROPING 

Stuart  reached  home  from  his  walk  thoroughly 
tired  and  dropped  into  a  feverish  sleep.  A  strange 
dream  haunted  this  attempt  to  rest.  He  found  him 
self  laughing  and  chatting  with  Bivens  on  terms  of 
intimate  friendship.  All  feeling  of  resentment  against 
him  had  gone.  The  little  man  had  grown  to  be  a  great 
figure  and  he  was  happy  in  remembering  their  boy 
hood  associations.  And  strangest  of  all,  they  had 
united  in  a  feeling  of  hatred  for  Nan.  She  was  the 
common  enemy  of  both,  and  not  only  so,  she  was  the 
enemy  of  all  men.  As  she  passed  through  the  street, 
crowds  were  hissing  and  insulting  her,  and  as  she  was 
entering  her  home  they  tried  to  kill  her.  A  stone 
struck  her  beautiful  forehead,  and  the  blood  was  trick 
ling  down  the  white  drawn  face.  He  was  hurling  him 
self  against  the  mob  in  a  vain  effort  to  reach  her  side, 
and  while  the  crowd  laughed  and  mocked,  an  officer 
mounted  the  steps  and,  instead  of  driving  the  mob 
back,  began  to  strike  her  furiously  with  his  club. 

Stuart  waked  with  a  cry  —  pressed  his  head  and 
looked  about  the  room,  bewildered.  The  tip  of  a 
swinging  limb  was  pounding  against  his  window  pane. 

He  opened  the  window  quickly  and  broke  the  twig. 

"What  a  nightmare!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  shiver. 

For  hours  its  horror  haunted  his  imagination. 

He  dressed  and  started  to  his  club  for  dinner,  changed 
his  mind  and  turned  down  Broadway  for  the  old  Cafe 

90 


Groping  91 

Boulevard  on  Second  Avenue.  He  stopped  again  in 
front  of  the  dingy  Bible  House  at  the  head  of  the  Bowery 
and  watched  the  flood  of  shopgirls  and  clerks  passing 
across  the  street  from  the  department  stores.  What 
an  endless  throng!  Hundreds,  thousands,  and  tens 
of  thousands,  men  and  women,  girls  and  boys,  hurrying 
homeward.  He  had  never  noticed  *  'them  before  — 
this  mighty  host  of  three  hundred  thousand  women 
and  five  hundred  thousand  men  who  rush  into  these 
swarming  hives  every  morning  and  stream  out  again 
in  the  gathering  dusk  of  spring  and  the  deepening 
nights  of  winter. 

For  the  first  time  they  seemed  human  beings  who 
might  have  hopes  and  fears,  joys  and  sorrows,  even 
as  he. 

How  strange  the  world  began  to  look  through  the 
new  eyes  of  pity  a  great  sorrow  had  given  him.  How 
worn  the  faces  of  these  children.  They  must  be  hor 
ribly  overworked.  What  a  pitiful,  starved  life  for  a 
child.  He  thought  of  his  own  childhood,  and  saw 
himself  with  swift  bare  feet  roaming  the  open  fields 
of  the  South. 

He  was  struck  with  the  wistful  faces  of  the  very 
young  girls  —  eager  and  wise  beyond  their  years. 
What  an  incongruous  thing  this  mingling  of  the  tense 
eagerness  of  young  girlhood  in  the  straight  open  stare 
of  worldly  wisdom  with  which  some  of  them  looked 
at  him,  and,  passing,  turned  to  look  again.  It  made 
him  shiver.  They  ought  to  be  at  school,  these  children; 
why  were  they  here,  jostling,  elbowing,  and  fighting 
their  way  through  this  crowd?  A  floor  walker  passed, 
holding  a  pretty  girl's  arm.  His  position  was  unmis 
takable.  No  other  man  strolls  through  the  world  with 
just  his  step  and  just  his  elevation  of  chin  —  a  chin 
that  will  hold  its  angle  in  death.  Among  the  hurrying 


92  The  Root  of  Evil 

throng  that  jostled  by  were  men  and  women  with  the 
deep  cut  lines  of  sorrow  and  tragedy  in  faces  that  had 
seen  better  days,  but  had  somehow  lost  their  way. 

Stuart's  heart  went  out  to  the  passing  crowd  in  a 
,  throb  of  sympathy  —  these  slaves  of  the  Modern  In 
visible  Master  without  a  soul  —  who  asked  always  and 
without  comment  for  efficiency  and  economy.  They 
must  make  money  for  him  or  fall  by  the  wayside,  and, 
if  they  fell,  the  master  never  knew  and  couldn't 
care. 

He  ate  his  dinner  in  a  whirl  of  confused  emotion 
and  again  found  himself  on  Broadway  walking  at  a 
furious  pace  uptown.  He  had  no  idea  how  furious  the 
pace  until  he  suddenly  noticed  that  he  was  an  object 
of  mild  curiosity.  He  slackened  his  speed,  conscious 
at  last  that  big  forces  were  fighting  within  the  first 
pitched  battle  for  the  mastery  of  life. 

Could  high  ideals  survive  the  white  heat  of  this 
furnace  —  the  focus  of  the  modern  world's  fiercest 
desire  to  live  and  to  will  —  the  money  centre  of  the 
earth?  Was  not  the  whole  structure  of  Society  at 
last  thoroughly  materialistic?  Was  not  religion  merely 
a  tradition,  honour  and  virtue  merely  the  themes  of 
song  aid  story?  Had  not  self  and  self-interest  at  last 
become  the  sole  force  behind  all  great  deeds?  It 
looked  that  way.  Then  why  should  any  man  be  a 
sentimental  fool?  Why  not  grasp  the  main  chance? 

Why  not  turn  now  and  beat  Bivens  at  his  own  game? 
There  was  yet  time  to  accept  his  offer,  join  his  power 
ful  group  of  the  exploiters  of  modern  industry,  crush 
this  little  shrimp  in  the  hollow  of  his  fist  at  last,  and 
take  the  woman  he  loved  from  him  by  the  law  of  might. 
Deep  within  he  felt  throbbing  forces  of  savage  cruelty 
that  in  the  centuries  of  the  past  had  given  his  ancestors 
the  leadership  of  men  before  the  finer  virtues  of  love 


Groping  93 

and  mercy  which  permitted  a  Bivens  to  exist  had  been 
born.  The  big  nostrils  of  his  long  straight  nose  dilated, 
the  white  hard  teeth  of  his  strong  jaw  snapped,  and 
his  eyes  flashed. 

Why  not? 

Again  and  again  these  fierce  questions  surged  within. 
The  " Great  White  Way"  flashed  its  splendours  of 
electric  light.  But  there  was  no  warmth  in  it  for  his 
spirit.  He  noted  to-night  for  the  first  time  that  the 
lights  were  not  hung  on  high  for  the  joy  of  those  who 
pass.  They  were  flames  in  the  temple  of  the  new  god 
Mammon.  They  were  the  signs  of  hucksters  who  had 
goods  to  sell  to  the  crowds  at  a  profit.  The  profusion 
of  light,  the  rush  of  eager  throngs  to  the  theatres,  the 
flash  and  clatter  of  passing  carriages,  the  streets  piled 
with  debris,  the  half -finished  steel  skyscraper  whose 
black  ribs  stood  out  against  the  stars,  all  brought  to 
his  imagination  this  evening  the  impression  of  exhaust- 
less  power. 

But  what  power? 

Certainly  not  the  power  of  love,  pity,  heroism, 
and  unselfish  devotion  to  ideals.  There  could  be  but 
one  answer.  These  flaming  signs  in  the  sky  w  ;re  the 
signals  of  the  advance  skirmish  line  of  a  huge  host  — 
growing  in  number  and  power  each  hour  —  the  army  of 
Mammon ! 

He  paused  before  a  theatre  into  which  a  stream  of 
pleasure  seekers  were  pouring.  The  ticket  speculators 
were  yelling  their  wares  on  the  sidewalk.  The  play 
was  a  famous  musical  comedy.  He  knew  to-night 
why  musical  comedy  had  such  vogue  in  the  money 
centres  of  the  world.  It  had  become  the  supreme 
expression  of  the  utterly  absurd  —  the  reduction  of 
life  to  the  terms  of  an  absurdity  expressed  in  rhythmic 
and  sensuous  beauty.  For  men  whose  god  was  money, 


94  The  Root  of  Evil 

it  would  doubtless  become  ultimately  the  only  form  of 
public  entertainment. 

He  began  to  negotiate  with  one  of  the  young  Hebrew 
philanthropists  of  the  pavement  for  a  ticket,  but  stopped 
in  disgust  and  moved  on.  There  was  something  inside 
that  hadn't  surrendered.  He  began  to  be  dimly  con 
scious  of  the  fact  that  the  real  fight  had  scarcely  begun. 
The  philanthropist's  feelings  were  hurt  by  his  abrupt 
departure.  He  followed  for  half  a  block  holding  to 
Stuart's  coat,  protesting  his  affectionate  and  earnest 
desire  to  promote  his  pleasure  without  a  cent  of  profit. 
He  offered  to  cut  the  price  of  a  seat  to  $3.50  and  solemnly 
swore  that  the  unfeeling  and  unprincipled  manager 
had  made  him  pay  $3.00  for  the  ticket. 

Stuart  paused  a  moment,  his  imagination  caught 
by  the  ravenous  eagerness  of  the  man's  face.  Here 
surely  was  a  true  worshipper  in  the  modern  temple. 

The  young  lawyer  smiled  and  said: 

"I  salute  you,  my  brother  —  I'm  thinking  of  joining 
you  soon!" 

The  speculator  suddenly  let  go  his  sleeve  and 
hurried  back  to  his  place,  glancing  over  his  shoulder 
with  a  vague  fear  that  the  lunatic  might  follow  him. 

Stuart  hurried  on  to  one  of  the  more  dignified  and 
serious  theatres  just  off  Broadway.  He  bought  a 
ticket  and  entered,  wondering  if  he  would  find  the  house 
empty.  To  his  surprise  it  was  full  —  orchestra,  bal 
cony,  and  gallery.  The  play  was  a  serious  effort  by  a 
brilliant  young  dramatist  of  the  modern  school  of 
realism.  In  two  minutes  from  the  rising  of  the  curtain 
the  play  had  gripped  him  with  relentless  power.  Slowly, 
remorseless  as  fate,  he  saw  the  purpose  of  the  author 
unfold  itself  in  a  series  of  tense  and  terrible  scenes. 
The  comedy  over  which  the  crowd  laughed  with  such 
contagious  merriment  was  even  more  sinister  than  the 


Groping  95 

serious  parts.  No  matter  what  the  situation  —  whether 
set  to  laughter,  to  terror,  or  to  tears  —  beneath  it  all 
throbbed  one  insistant  question : 

"Has  the  woman  who  sells  herself  for  money  a  soul?" 

With  breathless  interest  he  watched  the  cruel  carving 
of  her  body  into  tiny  pieces.  Without  sniffling,  whining, 
or  apology,  with  arms  bared  and  gleaming  scalpel 
firmly  gripped  in  a  hand  that  never  quivered  once,  the 
author  dissected  her.  Always  he  could  hear  this 
white  invisible  figure  bending  over  each  scene  talking 
to  the  audience  in  his  quiet  terrible  way: 

"Well,  if  be  she  has  a  soul,  we  shall  find  it.  Perhaps 
it's  here!"  The  knife  flashed  and  the  crowd  laughed. 
The  result  was  so  unexpected,  yet  so  remarkable  they 
had  to  laugh. 

"We'll  try  again!"  the  white  figure  said  with  a  smile, 
"Perhaps  we  should  go  deeper." 

And  then  with  firm  strong  hand  the  last  secret  of 
muscle  and  nerve  and  bone  was  laid  bare  and  the 
white  face  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  audience  through 
a  mist  of  tears. 

"I'm  sorry,  my  friends.  But  we  must  face  the  truth. 
It's  better  to  know  the  truth,  however  bitter,  than  to 
believe  a  lie.  I  do  not  dogmatize.  I  do  not  draw 
conclusions.  I  merely  show  you  the  thing  that  is." 

With  a  soft  rush  the  big  curtain  came  down  in  a  silence 
that  could  be  felt.  The  dazed  crowd  waked  from  the 
spell  and  poured  into  the  aisles,  while  Stuart  still  sat 
gripping  the  arms  of  his  seat  with  strangling  emotion. 

At  last  he  said  to  himself  with  choking  emphasis : 

"He  was  cruel,  inhuman,  unjust  —  I  refuse  to  be 
lieve  it  —  she  has  a  soul  —  She  has  a  soul!" 

And  yet  a  question  had  been  raised  in  his  mind  that 
was  destined  to  change  the  whole  motive  and  purpose 
of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ILLUMINATION 

Stuart  left  the  theatre  with  the  mysterious  convic 
tion  stirring  within  him  that  only  God  could  have 
directed  his  steps  to  that  building.  The  more  over 
whelming  the  author's  argument  the  fiercer  became 
his  rebellion  and  the  higher  rose  this  cry  of  his  heart 
for  a  nobler  faith  in  the  possibilities  of  humanity.  He 
began  dimly  to  feel  that  the  source  of  light  and  love 
might  be  very  near  if  he  but  had  eyes  to  see.  As  yet 
he  was  in  the  dark,  but  he  felt  in  a  dim  way  that  he  was 
groping  toward  the  light  and  that  suddenly  his  hand 
might  touch  the  spring  of  a  hidden  door  which  would 
open  and  reveal  the  shining  face  of  God!  How  strange 
that  these  old  ideas  of  the  religion  of  his  childhood 
should  come  surging  back  into  his  heart  from  the  past 
in  just  this  moment  when  he  was  apparently  fighting 
a  losing  battle  to  hold  the  last  shred  of  his  faith  in  any 
thing  human  or  divine! 

He  went  to  bed  in  a  calmer  frame  of  mind  than  he 
had  known  for  days.  His  sleep  was  deep  and  refresh 
ing  and  for  the  second  time  since  he  came  to  New  York 
he  woke  with  the  dawn.  He  watched  the  light  of  the 
coming  sun  spread  from  the  eastern  horizon  until  its 
gray  mantle  covered  the  world.  And  then  came  the 
first  dim  notes  of  the  call  of  the  morning  to  the  great 
city,  and  then  the  long  dull  roar  along  the  line  of  battle 
where  millions  were  rising  and  girding  themselves  for 
the  struggle  of  life. 

96 


Illumination  97 

He  drew  a  breath  of  gratitude  for  the  dawn  of  a 
new  day,  God's  miracle  of  love  —  the  old  weariness 
gone,  the  loneliness  and  heartache  easier  to  bear  because 
new  thoughts  and  new  hopes  had  begun  dimly  to  stir 
and  the  world  was  suddenly  flooded  with  the  glory  of 
a  new  sun. 

He  went  to  his  office  with  his  mind  keyed  to  a  higher 
pitch  of  power.  He  felt  that  he  was  on  his  mettle. 
The  fight  was  not  yet  won,  but  this  morning  he  was 
winning.  He  plunged  into  his  work  with  tireless  zeal. 
Everything  he  touched  seemed  illumined  with  anew  light. 

At  the  close  of  the  day's  work  he  was  still  conscious 
of  an  exhaustless  pity  which  had  found  no  adequate 
expression  in  his  labour  on  his  clients'  cases.  His  mind 
wandered  to  the  dark  silent  millions  into  whose  world 
the  doctor  had  led  him  that  night  —  millions  who  have 
no  voice  in  courts  because  they  have  no  money  to 
sustain  a  fight  for  the  enforcement  of  justice.  He 
had  never  thought  about  these  people  before.  They 
were  calling  now  for  his  help.  Why?  Because  he  had 
been  endowed  with  powers  of  head  and  heart  which 
they  did  not  possess.  The  possession  of  these  gifts 
carried  a  responsibility.  He  felt  this  very  dimly  as 
yet,  but  still  he  felt  it.  Never  before  had  he  been 
conscious  of  such  an  idea. 

On  reaching  his  club  on  Gramercy  Park  he  saw  that 
the  Primrose  house  was  closed.  Nan's  mother  had 
gone  with  the  bridal  party  on  Bivens's  big  yacht  for 
a  cruise  which  would  last  through  the  summer.  Some 
how,  for  all  his  brave  talk  he  didn't  feel  equal  to  the 
task  of  seeing  that  window  of  Nan's  old  home  from  his 
club.  He  was  about  to  beat  a  retreat  when  he  stopped 
abruptly  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  tightened. 

"  What's  the  use  of  being  a  coward?  I've  got  to 
get  used  to  it  —  I'd  as  well  begin  at  once." 


98  The  Root   of  Evil 

He  deliberately  took  his  seat  on  the  little  pillared 
balcony  of  the  clubhouse  and  watched  the  darkened 
window  through  the  gathering  twilight.  For  the 
moment  he  gave  up  the  fight  —  the  devil  had  him 
by  the  throat.  He  let  the  tears  come  without  protest. 
He  was  alone  and  the  shadows  were  friendly. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  at  last  by  the  flickering  light 
of  the  street  lamp  and  found  to  his  surprise  that  it  was 
nine  oclock.  He  had  forgotten  to  eat  and  felt 
no  hunger.  But  he  must  do  something.  He  might 
get  drunk  and  make  a  night  of  it.  He  couldn't  feel 
any  worse.  He  was  in  hell  anyway,  and  he  had  as  well 
join  the  festivities  for  once. 

He  stepped  inside,  touched  a  bell  and  ordered  a  cock 
tail.  He  placed  the  glass  on  the  little  table  by  his  side, 
and  looked  at  it.  What  an  asinine  act,  this  pouring 
of  poison  into  the  stomach  to  cure  a  malady  of  the 
soul!  He  smiled  cynically  and  suddenly  recalled  some 
thing  the  doctor  was  fond  of  repeating. 

"My  boy,  I'm  rich  so  long  as  there  are  millions 
of  people  in  the  world  poorer  than  I  am." 

Perhaps  there  was  an  antidote  better  than  this  poison. 
If  he  could  lift  the  curtain  for  a  single  moment  in  another 
life  more  hopeless  and  wretched  than  his?  It  was  worth 
trying. 

He  rose,  left  the  liquor  untouched,  and  in  a  few  min 
utes  was  treading  his  way  through  the  throngs  of  the 
lower  East  Side.  The  pathetic  figure  of  a  sleeping 
boy  curled  up  beside  a  doorstep  caught  his  eye  —  he 
stopped  and  looked  at  him.  Somewhere  on  this  green 
earth  a  mother  had  bent  over  the  cradle  of  each  of 
these  little  wild  arabs  and  taught  them  human  speech 
at  least !  Now  they  were  as  the  beasts  of  the  field  — 
and  worse  —  for  the  fields  in  which  beasts  roam  at 
least  are  free.  A  great  wave  of  pity  swept  his  heart 


Illumination  99 

and  the  hurt  of  his  own  tragedy  began  to  ease  before 
the  greater  pain  of  the  world.  How  happy  his  fate 
after  all  —  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  youth, 
strength,  power,  friends,  culture,  the  inheritance  of 
proud,  untainted  blood  —  what  a  fool  he  had  been 
an  hour  ago! 

His  eye  caught  the  light  streaming  from  a  basement 
saloon  on  the  corner.  Crowds  of  ugly  looking  wretches 
were  hurrying  down  the  rickety  stairs,  and  the  sound 
of  wheezy  dance-hall  music  floated  up  from  below.  He 
pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  and  entered. 

The  ceiling  was  low,  and  a  crowd  of  more  than  fifty 
half-drunken  men  and  women,  smoking  and  drinking 
stale  beer,  sat  at  the  little  tables  which  were  placed 
against  the  walls.  The  centre  of  the  room  was  kept 
clear  for  the  dancers.  He  was  amazed  to  find  among 
them  a  lot  of  boys  and  girls  not  out  of  their  teens. 
Many  of  the  dark-visaged  brutes  who  sat  at  the  tables 
watching  the  dancers  were  beyond  a  doubt  professional 
thieves  and  crooks. 

Here  and  there  he  saw  one  of  them  nod  to  a  girl 
who  was  dancing  with  a  boy  under  age.  He  knew  the 
meaning  of  that  signal.  She  was  his  slave  and  he  lived 
on  her  wages.  Was  there  no  crime  in  all  the  cata 
logue  of  human  infamy  to  which  man  would  not 
stoop  for  money! 

The  wheezy  little  orchestra  of  three  pieces  began  a 
waltz,  and  the  dancers  swung  around  the  tobacco- 
fogged  room.  Stuart  rose  in  disgust  to  go,  when  he 
stopped  near  the  door  suddenly  frozen  to  the  spot.  A 
fat  beastly  Negro  swept  by  encircling  the  frail  figure 
of  a  white  girl.  Her  dress  was  ragged  and  filthy,  but 
the  delicate  lines  of  her  face,  with  its  pure  Grecian 
profile,  and  high  forehead  bore  the  stamp  of  breeding 
and  distinction.  Two  red  spots  on  her  cheeks  and  the 


ioo  The  Root  of  Evil 

unnatural  brightness  of  her  big  blue  eyes  told  only 
too  plainly  that  Death  had  marked  her  as  his  own. 

To  the  young  Southerner  the  sight  was  one  of  in 
credible  horror.  His  first  impulse  on  recovery  from 
this  surprise  was  to  rush  in,  knock  this  Negro  down 
and  take  the  girl  to  a  place  of  safety. 

He  looked  about  among  all  the  men  who  filled 
the  room,  for  a  single  face  in  which  was  left  a  trace 
of  human  pride.  With  one  to  stand  by  him,  it  could 
be  done.  He  looked  in  vain.  To  strike  alone  in  such 
a  den  of  beasts  would  be  the  act  of  a  madman. 

Quivering  with  rage  he  took  a  seat  and  watched  the 
Negro  send  this  girl  from  side  to  side  of  the  room  to 
do  his  bidding.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  track  the 
brute  to  his  lair  and  tear  her  from  his  claws,  no 
matter  what  the  cost.  The  Negro  suddenly  beckoned 
to  the  girl  and  she  left  with  him. 

Stuart  followed  close  on  their  heels.  Two  blocks 
from  the  place  the  black  figure  stopped  and  demanded 
her  money.  She  fumbled  nervously  in  the  folds  of 
her  filthy  skirt  and  drew  from  her  pocket  some  small 
coins.  He  turned  it  over  in  his  greasy  palm  with  a 
sneer. 

"All  right  fur  ez  hit  goes,  but  come  over  wid  de 
res'." 

"It's  all  I've  got  —  I  swear  it  is,"  she  sobbed. 

He  glared  at  her  with  a  savage  growl. 

"You're  a  liar!" 

"It's  true  —  I  swear  it's  true!"  the  trembling  voice 
pleaded. 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye  las'  night  I'd  kill  ye  if  ye  didn't 
do  better  to-day?" 

"Please,  don't  beat  me  again  —  I've  done  the  best 
I  could " 

Strangling   and   trembling  with   rage   Stuart   edged 


Illuminatipri    .  ,  101 

his  way  close,  keeping  his  form  out  of  range  of  the 
Negro's  eyes.  The  brute  was . 'looking  neither  to>, the 
right  or  left  now,  his  whole  being  absorbed  in  the  cruel 
joy  of  the  torture  he  was  about  to  inflict  on  the  help 
less,  cringing  thing  that  clung  to  his  arm  sobbing  and 
begging  for  mercy. 

"Den  ef  you'se  done  de  bes'  you  could  —  I'se  gwine 
ter  teach  ye  ter  do  better !"  His  yellow  teeth  in  their 
blue  gums  flashed  in  a  devilish  smile.  He  gripped  the 
slender  little  wrists  in  one  of  his  claws  and  doubled  his 
fist  to  strike,  as  a  blow  from  Stuart  caught  him  in  the 
neck  and  laid  him  on  the  pavement.  The  young 
lawyer  sprang  on  the  prostrate  figure  with  fury.  It 
was  the  joyous  work  of  a  minute  to  beat  and  choke 
him  into  insensibility.  He  rose  and  gave  the  black 
form  a  parting  kick  that  rolled  him  into  the  gutter, 
turned  to  the  crouching  white  figure  and  said  sharply: 

"Come  with  me." 

Without  a  word  she  followed  timidly  behind. 

He  stopped  and  spoke  tenderly: 

"Don't  walk  behind  me." 

"I'm  not  fit  to  walk  beside  you,"  she  answered 
meekly. 

"I'll  be  the  judge  of  that.  You're  a  woman.  My 
mother  was  a  woman.  And  I'm  a  little  bit  ashamed 
of  myself  to-night  for  living  in  such  a  world  as  this 
without  having  killed  somebody." 

She  hung  her  head  and  tried  to  walk  by  his  side, 
instinctively  shrinking  back. 

He  stopped  to  ask  an  officer  the  way  to  the  Critten- 
den  Mission.  Somewhere  he  had  read  that  a  merchant 
by  the  name  of  Crittenden  whose  heart  was  broken 
over  the  death  of  a  little  girl  had  given  all  he  possessed 
to  found  and  endow  missions  for  saving  other  men's 
daughters. 


102  The: Root  of  Evil 

The  girl  hea.rd, his  question  and  looked  up  into  his 
face  w'tfi  .'&  hew  .'terror'  in  her  feverish  eyes. 

" Won't  they  lock  me  up?" 

Stuart  took  the  cold  thin  hand  in  his. 

"Not  unless  they  lock  me  up  too,  child.  Don't 
worry.  I'm  a  lawyer.  I'll  see  that  no  harm  comes  to 
you." 

"All  right.  I'll  do  just  as  you  say,"  she  responded 
gratefully. 

When  the  matron  at  the  Mission  had  soothed 
away  the  poor  creature's  last  fear,  Stuart  turned  to  go. 

The  girl  stepped  quickly  forward  as  he  extended  his 
hand. 

"Good-bye,  child,  I  hope  you'll  soon  be  better.  If 
I  can  help  you,  let  me  know.  I'm  glad  to  have  had  the 
chance  to  be  of  service  to  you  to-night.  You  have 
done  more  for  me  than  I  have  for  you.  I  am  very 
grateful." 

The  unnaturally  bright  eyes  gazed  into  his  as  if  they 
didn't  quite  understand,  and  then  through  the  tears 
she  slowly  said: 

"You  have  saved  me  from  hell.  I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
long  to  live.  I'll  only  ask  God  that  it  shall  be  long 
enough  for  me  to  show  you  how  grateful  I  am." 

Stuart  walked  home  with  a  sense  of  spiritual  elation 
he  had  never  felt  before.  For  the  first  time  he  had 
given  himself  utterly  without  the  hope  of  reward. 
A  new  joy  filled  his  heart  with  a  warm  glow.  Life 
began  to  take  a  deep,  new  meaning.  The  boundaries 
of  the  world  had  been  extended  to  include  millions 
whose  existence  he  had  ignored.  How  vast  and  thrill 
ing  their  life!  As  yet,  no  new  purpose  had  shaped 
itself  within,  but  his  soul  was  stirring  with  vague, 
mighty  impulses. 

When  he  reached  the  house  on  Washington  Square 


Illumination  103 

it  was  yet  early  in  the  evening.  He  longed  for  the 
sweet  restfulness  which  Harriet's  presence  always 
brought.  He  had  often  come  home  from  a  visit  to 
Nan,  which  had  been  a  continuous  torture,  to  find  in 
her  a  grateful  peace.  How  strange  that  we  so  often 
love  those  who  have  the  supreme  faculty  of  torturing 
instead  of  making  us  happy.  He  found  Harriet  read 
ing  in  the  library. 

"Oh,  Jim,  dear,  where  on  earth  have  you  been  for 
nearly  two  days?"  she  cried.  "I  haven't  seen  you 
since  the  wedding 

"Won't  you  sing  for  me?"  he  broke  in. 

A  smile  of  pride  made  her  face  radiant. 

"You  want  to  hear  me  this  late?" 

"Yes  —  you'll  not  disturb  anybody." 

"All  right — "  she  paused  and  suddenly  clapped  her 
hands.  "I'll  get  my  mandolin.  You've  never  heard 
me  play  that,  have  you  ?  I've  learned  'Way  down  on 
the  Swannee  Ribber'  on  it.  I  know  you'll  like  it." 

She  ran  up  the  stairs  and  returned  in  a  moment  with 
the  mandolin.  Softly  touching  a  note,  she  seated  her 
self  and  began  to  sing,  accompanying  her  song  with  the 
little  half -doubtful  touch  on  the  plaintive  strings. 

Stuart  listened,  entranced.  He  had  heard  that  old 
song  of  the  South  a  hundred  times.  But  she  was  sing 
ing  it  to-night  with  a  strange  new  power.  Or  was  it 
his  imagination?  He  listened  with  keen  and  more 
critical  ears.  No.  It  was  not  his  imagination.  The 
change  was  in  her  voice.  He  heard  with  increasing 
wonder.  The  quivering  notes  of  tenderness  sought 
his  inmost  being  and  stirred  the  deepest  emotion  — 
not  with  memories  of  his  boyhood  days  in  the  South 
whose  glory  the  song  was  telling  —  but  in  visions  of 
the  future,  thoughts  of  great  deeds  to  be  done  and  heroic 
sacrifice  to  be  endured. 


104  The  Root  of  Evil 

How  selfish  his  life  had  been  after  all.  Every  dream 
and  struggle  had  been  for  himself.  A  feeling  of  shame 
overspread  his  soul  as  he  watched  the  girl's  soft  little 
hand  touch  the  strings,  and  he  contrasted  his  own  life 
with  the  sweetness  of  her  spirit.  In  all  the  years  he  had 
known  her  he  could  not  recall  a  single  mean  or  selfish 
act.  Her  face  was  not  beautiful  by  the  standard  of 
artists,  but  the  sunlight  lingered  in  her  eyes,  her  hands 
were  cunning,  and  her  feet  swift  to  serve  those  she  loved. 
For  the  last  two  years  as  she  had  blossomed  into  maiden 
hood,  a  subtle  fragrance  had  enveloped  her  being,  making 
significant  and  charming  all  she  said  or  did,  revealing 
new  beauty  and  grace  at  every  turn. 

From  some  shadowy  memory  of  a  Sunday's  service 
in  his  boyhood  came  floating  into  his  heart  the  words 
"He  that  seeketh  to  save  his  life  shall  lose  it." 

The  groping  hand  that  had  been  fumbling  in  the 
dark  suddenly  touched  the  hidden  spring,  and  the  dark 
ened  soul  was  flooded  with  light.  A  strange  peace 
entered  to  abide  forever.  A  man  had  been  born  again 
-  of  the  spirit,  not  the  flesh. 

The  rapt  look  still  held  his  face  when  the  music  had 
ceased,  and  Harriet  watched  his  expression  for  a  moment 
in  silence. 

The  girl  leaned  forward  at  last  with  eager  interest 
and  laid  her  friendly  hand  on  his.  She  had  a  trick  of 
leaning  forward  like  that  when  talking  to  him  that  had 
always  amused  Stuart. 

He  watched  the  flashes  of  light  in  her  eyes  beneath 
their  long  lashes  and  the  quiver  of  the  mobile  mouth. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  are  thinking  about,  Jim? "  she 
said,  a  smile  flitting  around  her  tender,  expressive  eyes. 

Stuart  noticed  two  dainty  dimples  come  with  the 
smile  in  the  faintest  suggestion  of  coquetry. 

"I  was  seeing  a  vision,  little  pal,"  he  began  slowly  - 


v/  was  seeing  a  vision,  little  pal'  " 


Illumination  105 

"the  vision  of  a  gala  night  of  Grand  Opera,  Broadway 
blazed  with  light  and  I  was  fighting  my  way  through 
the  throng  at  the  entrance  to  hear  a  great  singer  whose 
voice  had  begun  to  thrill  the  world.  At  last  amid  a 
hush  of  intense  silence,  she  came  before  the  footlights, 
saw  and  conquered.  The  crowd  went  mad  with  en 
thusiasm.  For  once  an  American  audience  forgot 
its  cold  self-possession.  Men  leaped  on  their  seats, 
cheered  and  shouted  as  Frenchmen  or  Italians.  Women 
in  resplendent  gowns  and  jewels  rose  in  their  boxes 
and  split  their  gloves  clapping  their  hands.  And 
through  it  all  the  singer  stood  bowing  in  simple  dignity, 
looking  over  the  sea  of  faces  as  if  in  search  of  one  she 
knew.  I  lifted  my  hat  and  waved  it  on  high  until 
she  saw.  A  beautiful  smile  lighted  her  face  and  straight 
over  the  heads  of  the  people  she  blew  me  a  kiss ' ' 

The  tiniest  frown  clouded  the  girl's  brow. 

"Who  was  she,  Jim?" 

"One  who  shall  yet  sing  before  Kings  and  Princes 
—  I  call  her  'Sunshine'  —  her  name  is  Harriet  Wood 
man." 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  she  threw  herself  back  in  the 
big  armchair  in  a  pose  of  natural  grace,  her  lips  twitched, 
the  golden  head  tipped  to  one  side  thoughtfully,  and  he 
waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"But,  Jim,  suppose  I'm  not  ambitious?  Suppose 
I'm  just  a  silly  little  home  body  who  only  wishes  to  be 
loved?" 

"And  so  you  will  be  loved.  They  will  come  in 
troops  —  these  lovers  —  serious  and  gay,  and  fall  at 
your  feet  — 

"But  if  I  only  want  one  —  and  he  is  not  there  —  they 
will  tire  me,  won't  they?" 

"When  I  see  those  two  dimples  come  into  your 
cheeks  now  and  then  I  think  you  will  enjoy  it." 


106  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Perhaps  I  would." 

The  head  nodded  in  quick  friendly  understanding, 
She  raised  her  arms  and  touched  the  bow  of  ribbon  on 
her  luxuriant  hair  with  another  suggestion  of  coquetry, 
quickly  lowered  them,  drew  the  short  skirt  down 
further  over  her  knees,  gazed  thoughtfully  at  Stuart, 
and  with  a  quizzical  look  in  her  eyes  asked: 

"How  old  do  you  think  a  girl  must  be  to  really  and 
deeply  and  truly  love,  Jim?" 

Stuart's  brow  contracted  and  he  took  her  hand  in 
his,  stroked  it  tenderly  and  studied  the  beautiful  lines 
as  they  melted  from  the  firmly  shaped  wrist  into  the 
rounded  arm  and  gracefully  moulded  body. 

"I'm  afraid  you've  asked  a  bigger  question  than  I 
can  answer,  dear,"  he  said,  with  serious  accent.  "I've 
been  wondering  lately  whether  the  world  hasn't  lost 
the  secret  of  happy  mating  and  marrying.  A  more 
beautiful  even  life  I  have  never  seen  than  the  one 
in  the  home  of  my  childhood.  Yet  my  mother 
was  only  fourteen  and  my  father  twenty-one  when 
they  were  married.  You  see,  dear,  that  was  in  the 
old  days  when  boys  and  girls  were  not  afraid  —  when 
love  dared  to  laugh  at  cares  about  houses  and  lands 
and  goods  and  chattels,  when  Nature  claimed  her  own, 
when  the  voices  of  the  deepest  impulses  of  our  bodies 
and  souls  were  heard  first  and  the  chatterings  about 
careers  and  social  triumphs  were  left  to  settle  themselves. 
Now  folks  only  allow  themselves  to  marry  in  cold 
blood,  calculating  with  accuracy  their  bank  accounts. 
My  mother  had  been  married  six  months  at  your  age, 
and  yet  here  I  sit  on  a  pedestal  and  have  the  impudence 
to  talk  to  you  as  a  child  — 

"But  you're  not  impudent,  Jim,"  she  broke  in 
eagerly,  "and  I  understand." 

Her  eyes  were  looking  steadily  into  his. 


Illumination  107 

"I'm  beginning  to  wonder,"  Stuart  continued, 
"whether  Nature  made  a  mistake  when  she  made 
woman  as  she  is.  I  once  knew  a  girl  of  fifteen  to  whom 
I  believe  life  was  the  deepest  tragedy  or  the  highest 
joy  of  which  her  heart  will  ever  be  capable.  Else  why  did 
the  blood  come  and  go  so  quickly  in  her  cheeks?" 

A  sudden  flush  mantled  Harriet's  face  and  she  turned 
away  that  he  might  not  see. 

"Why  did  she  feel  the  loud  beating  of  her  heart 
at  the  approach  of  the  man  she  imagined  to  be  her 
hero?  Why  did  she  drop  her  eyes  in  confusion 

The  deep  brown  eyes  were  looking  into  his  now  with 
a  steady  light.  She  had  mastered  herself  and  he  could 
not  guess  her  secret.  Her  heart  beat  so  loudly  she 
wondered  if  he  could  hear. 

Stuart's  voice  had  grown  dreamy,  as  if  a  thousand 
tender  memories  were  trooping  into  his  heart  from 
the  past  and  he  was  talking  to  himself.  4 

"Why  were  her  hands  so  moist  and  warm  to  the 
touch  of  the  boy  who  held  them,  and  why  did  they 
tremble  so  violently?  Why  did  she  turn  so  pale?  — 
so  pale  and  so  suddenly,  he  thought  she  was  about  to 
faint?  When  again  in  life  can  one  see  this  moment 
of  the  blossoming  of  both  soul  and  body  —  this  quiver 
ing  readiness  for  the  touch  of  the  lover  for  whose  com 
ing  she  waits  with  such  frank  and  honest  eagerness?" 
1  Again  the  little  figure  bent  forward  with  breathless 
interest  as  she  slowly  asked: 

"Oh,  Jim,  when  did  you  see  this?" 

Stuart's  head  bent  low  and  rested  between  his  hands. 

"I  loved  such  a  little  girl  once,  dear " 

Harriet's  face  suddenly  flushed  with  joy.  It  was  too 
wonderful  to  be  true,  but  it  was  true!  And  he  had 
chosen  this  curious  way  to  tell  her.  Her  voice  sank 
to  the  softest  whisper  as  she  bent  closer : 


io8  The  Root  of  Evil 

"And  you  love  her  still,  Jim?" 

His  head  drooped  lower  as  he  sighed : 

"I  loved  and  lost  her,  little  pal!  She  was  married 
two  days  ago.  God  called  me  in  the  morning  of 
life  to  claim  my  own.  But  I  wasn't  bold  enough. 
I  waited,  and  worldly  wisdom,  prudence,  and  common 
sense  became  her  tutors  to  make  her  wise.  She  came 
to  the  great  city,  learned  its  ways  and  sold  herself  for 
gold.  A  priest  of  God  standing  before  his  altar  con 
firmed  the  sale  while  a  crowd  of  fools  looked  on  in 
awe ' ' 

The  colour  had  slowly  returned  to  the  little  freckled 
face  with  its  crown  of  golden  hair,  and  the  deep  brown 
eyes  overflowed  with  tears  for  just  a  moment.  She 
brushed  them  away  before  he  raised  his  head,  so  that 
he  never  knew. 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  head  and  stroked  the  dark 
hair  tenderly. 

"I'm  so  sorry,  Jim,"  she  said  simply,  "I  understand 
now." 

He  raised  his  head  and  took  her  hand  in  his 
again. 

"It's  very  sweet  to  have  you  share  this  ugly  secret 
of  my  life,  little  pal.  It  will  help  me." 

"And  you  are  sorry  you  ever  knew  her,  Jim?" 

"No,  I'm  not  sorry.  You  see,  dearie,  there's  just 
one  thing  even  God  can't  do  —  create  a  human  char 
acter.  He  can  only  give  us  a  will  —  the  spark  from 
his  own  soul.  We  must  do  the  rest.  I've  grown  to  see 
that  there's  just  one  thing  in  the  world  that's  really  big 
—  big  as  God  is  big  —  the  man  who  has  attained  a 
character.  I  haven't  lived  at  all  yet.  I'm  just  be 
ginning  to  see  what  it  means  to  live.  Until  now  I've 
thought  only  of  myself.  A  new  light  has  illumined 
the  way.  Now  —  I'm  going  to  live  for  others.  From 


Illumination  109 

to-day  I  shall  ask  nothing  for  myself,  and  I  can  never 
be  disappointed  again." 

Harriet  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Would  it  please  you,  Jim,  if  I  should  make  a  great 
singer?" 

"More  than  I  can  tell  you,  dear.  Your  voice  is  a 
divine  gift.  I  envy  you  its  power." 

Her  eyes  were  shining  with  a  great  purpose. 

"I  know  that  it  means  years  and  years  of  patient 
work  —  but  I'll  do  it,"  she  cried. 

Stuart  rose  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips.  She 
wondered  if  he  could  feel  it  tremble  beneath  the 
pounding  of  her  heart. 

When  the  last  echo  of  his  footstep  in  the  hall  above 
died  away  and  his  door  had  closed,  the  little  golden 
head  bowed  low  in  a  passionate  tender  prayer : 

"God  help  me  to  keep  my  secret  and  yet  to  love  and 
help  him  always!" 


IBoofe  2  —  Cfte  Koot 

CHAPTER  I 

AN    OLD    PERFUME 

Stuart  sat  in  his  office  holding  a  letter  from  Nan 
which  was  hard  to  answer. 

For  nine  years  he  had  refused  to  see  or  speak  to  her. 
He  met  Bivens  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  always  down 
town  during  business  hours  or  at  one  of  his  clubs.  For 
the  first  year  Nan  had  resented  his  attitude  in  angry 
pride  and  remained  silent.  And  then  she  began  to 
do  a  curious  thing  which  had  grown  to  be  a  part  of 
his  inmost  life.  For  the  past  eight  years  she  had  written 
a  brief  daily  diary  recording  her  doings,  thoughts  and 
memories  which  she  mailed  to  him  every  Sunday  night. 
She  asked  no  reply  and  he  gave  none.  No  names 
appeared  in  its  story  and  no  name  was  signed  to  the 
dainty  sheets  of  paper  which  always  bore  the  perfume 
of  wild  strawberries. 

But  the  man  who  read  them  in  silence  knew  and 
understood. 

The  letter  he  held  to-day  was  not  an  unsigned  sheet 
of   her   diary  —  it   was   a   direct,    personal   appeal  - 
tender  and  beautiful  in  its  sincerity.     She  begged  him 
to  forget  the  past,  because  she  needed  his  friendship  and 
advice,  and  asked  that  he  come  to  see  her  at  once. 

This  letter  was  his  first  temptation  to  break  the 
resolution  by  which  he  had  lived  for  years. 

no 


An  Old  Perfume  in 

He  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  fury,  as  he  began 
to  realize  how  desperate  was  his  desire  to  go. 

"Have  I  fought  all  these  years  for  nothing?"  he  cried. 

The  thing  that  drew  him  with  all  but  resistless  power 
was  the  deeper  meaning  between  the  lines.  He  knew 
that  each  day  the  incompleteness  of  her  life  had  been 
borne  in  upon  her  with  crushing  force.  He  knew  that 
the  mad  impulses  which  had  expressed  themselves  in 
luxury,  dress,  extravagance,  balls  and  bizarre  enter 
tainments  were  but  the  strangled  cries  of  a  sorrowing 
heart.  And  he  knew  that  the  fatuity  of  it  all  had  begun 
at  last  to  terrify  her.  The  more  desperately  he  fought 
the  impulse  to  go  the  keener  became  his  desire  to 
see  her  again.  And  yet  he  must  not.  He  felt,  by  an 
instinct  deeper  than  -reason,  that  the  day  he  returned 
from  his  exile  and  touched  her  hand  would  mark  the 
beginning  of  a  tragedy  for  both. 

And  yet  the  desire  to  go  clamoured  with  increasing 
madness.  The  changes  that  had  come  into  his  life 
counted  for  nothing  —  to-day  only  a  great  passion 
remained  —  torturing,  challenging,  tempting.  Could 
he  never  live  it  down?  He  looked  about  his  office,  re 
minded  himself  of  his  dignity  and  responsibility,  and 
sought  refuge  in  his  sense  of  duty  to  the  people. 

"I've  done  some  things  worth  while!"  he  cried,  with 
brooding  pride. 

And  the  record  confirmed  his  boast. 

In  the  past  nine  years  he  had  thrown  his  life  away 
only  to  find  it  in  greater  power.  He  recalled  it  now 
with  a  renewed  sense  of  gratitude. 

The  first  year  which  he  had  given  of  unselfish  devotion 
to  the  service  of  the  people  had  been  a  failure.  He  saw 
at  the  end  of  it  that  in  reaching  an  individual  here 
and  there  he  was  merely  trying  to  bale  out  the  ocean 
with  a  soup  ladle.  He  saw  that  if  he  would  serve  the 


ii2  The  Root  of  Evil 

people  he  must  work  through  them.  He  must  appeal 
to  the  masses,  teach,  lead,  uplift  and  inspire  them  to 
action.  And  he  entered  politics.  Only  organic  social 
action  could  get  anywhere  or  accomplish  anything 
worth  while.  He  joined  the  organization  of  the  local 
Democracy  in  his  district  and  went  to  work. 

It  happened  that  he  joined  just  before  an  exciting 
municipal  election.  He  threw  himself  into  the  cam^ 
paign  with  the  zeal  of  a  crusader.  The  people  who 
crowded  to  hear  him  were  not  merely  thrilled  by  the 
eloquence  of  his  impassioned  speeches  —  they  felt 
instinctively  that  the  heart  of  a  real  man  was  beating 
back  of  every  word. 

His  advancement  was  remarkable.  At  the  end  of 
four  years  he  was  nominated  for  District  Attorney, 
and  was  swept  into  office  by  a  large  majority. 

Under  his  vigorous  administration  of  this  important 
and  powerful  office  the  enforcement  of  justice  ceased 
to  be  a  joke  and  became  a  living  faith. 

His  work  had  stirred  the  State  to  a  nobler  and  cleaner 
civic  life.  During  the  past  year  he  had  become  one  of 
the  foremost  figures  in  American  Democracy  —  the  best 
loved  and  the  most  hated  and  feared  man  in  public 
life  in  New  York. 

He  remained  alike  indifferent  to  the  cheers  of  his 
friends  or  the  threats  of  his  enemies.  He  was  the  most 
powerful  man  who  had  ever  held  such  an  office  because 
he  had  no  ambition  beyond  the  highest  service  he  could 
render  the  people.  He  asked  no  favours  —  he  sought 
no  preferment. 

To  the  men  who  secured  his  nomination  and  election 
he  was  an  insolvable  mystery.  He  said  he  wanted 
nothing.  They  had  taken  that  as  a  wise  saying  of  a 
very  shrewd  man.  When  he  accepted  the  nomination, 
they  smiled  knowingly.  But  when  they  demanded 


An  Old  Perfume  113 

that  he  use  his  high  office  to  punish  enemies  and  reward 
friends  —  and  he  politely  refused  —  they  served  notice 
on  him  of  political  death  unless  he  yielded  within  a  given 
number  of  hours. 

His  answer  was  a  laugh  as  he  opened  the  door  and 
pointed  the  way  by  which  the  astonished  delegation 
might  find  a  safe  and  swift  way  of  exit.  They  passed 
out  in  speechless  astonishment,  and  sent  their  big  chief 
to  browbeat  and  bully  the  young  upstart  into  sub 
mission.  The  incredible  swiftness  with  which  he 
returned  left  the  question  open  as  to  how  he  got  out  of 
the  District  Attorney's  office.  He  claimed  to  have 
bowed  himself  politely  out  the  door  —  but,  from  the 
condition  of  his  clothes  and  the  rumpled  state  of  his 
hair,  his  comrades  cherished  the  secret  but  sure  convic 
tion  that  he  was  kicked  down  the  stairs.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  from  that  day  Stuart  was  left  to  his  own  devices 
by  the  professional  politicians,  who  were  loud  in  their 
accusations  of  treachery  and  ingratitude.  His  political 
education  was  given  up  as  hopeless. 

Yet  in  spite  of  their  gloomy  predictions  of  his  speedy 
ruin,  he  had  steadily  grown  in  power  and  influence. 

The  work  on  which  he  had  just  entered  was  an  in 
vestigation  before  an  unusually  intelligent  Grand  Jury 
of  the  criminal  acts  of  a  group  of  the  most  daring  and 
powerful  financiers  of  the  world.  These  men  con 
trolled  through  their  position  as  trustees  of  the  treasuries 
of  great  corporations  more  millions  than  the  combined 
treasuries  of  the  governments  of  the  Republic  —  State 
and  National.  The  act  was  not  only  daring,  it  was 
extremely  dangerous.  Under  certain  conditions  it 
might  produce  a  panic  —  so  daring  and  dangerous  was 
the  move  that  its  first  announcement  was  received  as  a 
joke  by  the  press.  The  idea  of  a  young  upstart  ques 
tioning  the  honesty  and  position  of  the  men  who  con- 


H4  The  Root  of  Evil 

trolled  the  treasuries  of  the  great  insurance  and  trust 
companies  was  ridiculous.  When  he  realized  the  mag 
nitude  of  the  task  he  had  undertaken,  he  at  once  put 
his  house  in  order  for  the  supreme  effort.  It  was 
necessary  that  he  give  up  every  outside  interest  that 
might  distract  his  attention  from  the  greater  task. 

The  one  matter  of  grave  importance  to  which  he  was 
giving  his  time  outside  his  office  was  his  position  as 
advisory  counsel  to  Dr.  Woodman  in  his  suit  for  damages 
against  the  Chemical  Trust, which  had  been  dragging  its 
course  through  the  courts  for  years.  To  his  amazement 
he  had  just  received  an  offer  from  Bivens's  attorneys  to 
compromise  this  suit  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
He  would  of  course  advise  the  doctor  to  accept  it  im 
mediately.  He  had  never  believed  he  could  win  a 
penny. 

What  could  be  Eivens's  motive  in  making  such  an 
offer?  It  was  impossible  that  the  shrewd  little  presi 
dent  of  the  American  Chemical  Company  had  anything 
to  fear  personally  from  this  attack.  His  fortune  was 
vast  and  beyond  question.  His  wealth  had  grown  in 
the  past  nine  years  like  magic.  Everything  his  smooth 
little  hand  touched  had  turned  to  gold.  Wherever  an 
industry  could  pay  a  dividend,  his  ferret  eyes  found  it. 
The  process  was  always  the  same.  He  brought 
together  its  rival  houses,  capitalized  the  new  combine 
for  ten  times  its  actual  value  and  bound  the  burden 
of  this  enormous  fictitious  value  as  an  interest-bearing 
debt  on  the  backs  of  the  consumers  of  the  goods.  The 
people  and  their  children  and  their  children's  children 
would  have  to  pay  it. 

His  fortune  now  could  not  be  less  than  forty  millions 
and  the  issue  of  such  a  suit  as  the  one  Woodman  had 
brought  and  on  which  he  had  spent  so  much  of  his  time 
and  money  was  to  Bivens  a  mere  bagatelle. 


An  Old  Perfume  115 

The  more  Stuart  pondered  over  this  extraordinary 
offer,  the  more  completely  he  was  puzzled.  He  sought 
for  outside  influences  that  might  move  him  to  such  an 
act.  It  might  be  Nan  —  it  must  be !  Her  letter  surely 
made  the  explanation  reasonable.  She  knew  this  suit 
was  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  meeting.  If  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  remove  that  obstacle,  she  would 
do  it.  Her  will  had  grown  in  imperious  power  with  each 
indulgence. 

During  the  past  winter  she  had  become  the  sensation 
of  the  metropolis.  Her  wealth,  her  beauty,  her  palaces, 
and  her  entertainments  had  made  her  the  subject  of 
endless  comment.  She  had  set  a  pace  for  extra vaga ace 
which  made  the  old  leaders  stand  aghast.  And  the  one 
thing  which  made  her  letter  well  nigh  resistless  was 
that  he  alone  of  all  the  world  knew  the  inner  life  of  this 
beautiful  woman  whose  name  was  on  a  thousand  lips. 
Her  worldly  wise  mother  might  have  guessed  it  but  she 
had  been  dead  for  the  past  five  years,  and  the  secret  was 
his  alone. 

He  read  her  letter  over  again  and  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  pile  of  legal  documents  in  the  case  of  Woodman 
against  the  American  Chemical  Company  lying  on  his 
desk. 

"It's  her  work  beyond  a  doubt!"  he  said  at  last,  "and 
the  doctor  will  never  believe  it." 

He  was  waiting  the  arrival  of  his  old  friend  for  a 
conference  over  Bivens's  offer  of  compromise  and  he 
dreaded  the  ordeal.  If  he  should  refuse  this  final  chance 
of  settlement  he  would  make  a  mistake  that  could  not 
be  undone.  The  result  was  even  worse  than  he  could 
possibly  foresee. 

"So  the  little  weasel  has  offered  to  compromise  my 
suit  for  half  the  sum  we  named,  eh?  "  the  doctor  asked 
in  triumph. 


n6  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  assure  you  that  if  the  case  comes  to  its  final  test 
you  are  certain  to  lose." 

"So  you  have  said  again  and  again,  my  boy"  —  was 
the  good-natured  reply,  "but  his  sudden  terror  and 
this  offer  shows  that  we  have  won  already  and  he 
knows  it.  Greater  thieves,  who  have  ruined  their  com 
petitors  in  the  same  way,  are  urging  him  to  settle  this 
suit  and  prevent  others  from  being  brought." 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"It's  as  plain  as  daylight." 

"There's  another  motive." 

"Nonsense,"  persisted  the  doctor,  his  whole  being 
aglow  with  enthusiasm,  "Bivens  has  seen  the  hand 
writing  on  the  wall.  When  the  American  people  are 
once  aroused  their  wrath  will  sweep  the  Trusts  into  the 
bottomless  pit. " 

"Bivens  isn't  worrying  about  the  people  or  their 
wrath. " 

"Then  it's  time  he  began!"  the  doctor  cried.  "Mark 
my  word,  the  day  of  the  common  people  has  dawned. 
This  mudsill  of  the  world  has  learned  to  read  and  write 
and  begun  to  think.  He  has  tasted  of  the  tree  of  knowl 
edge  of  good  and  evil  and  begins  dimly  to  see  his  own 
nakedness.  He  will  never  be  content  again  until  he  turns 
the  world  upside  down.  My  country  will  lead  the  way 
as  in  the  past." 

"But  if  in  the  meantime  you  and  yours  go  down  in 
ruin?" 

"I  refuse  to  consider  it.  The  cause  of  the  people  and 
their  day  has  come.  I  will  stand  or  fall  with  them. 
Remember,  my  boy,  that  at  last  the  idea  has  been  born 
that  we  are  all  —  men !  It's  new  —  it's  revolutionary. 
A  few  centuries  ago  the  people  slept  in  ignorance.  Of 
the  twenty-six  barons  who  signed  the  Magna  Charta 
only  three  could  write  their  names  —  the  rest  could 


An  Old  Perfume  117 

only  make  their  mark.  The  average  workingman  of 
to-day  is  more  cultured  than  the  titled  nobleman  of 
yesterday  —  the  people  once  thoroughly  aroused  —  let 
fools  find  shelter!" 

"But  you  and  I  have  both  agreed,  Doctor,"  Stuart 
interrupted  with  a  frown,  "that  Mr.  Jno.  C.  Calhoun 
Bivens  is  not  a  fool.  You  must  consider  this  offer. 
You  have  too  much  at  stake.  Your  factory  has  been 
closed  for  five  years.  Your  store  has  been  sold  —  your 
business  ruined  and  you  are  fighting  to  pay  the  interest 
on  your  debts.  I've  seen  you  growing  poorer  daily 
until  you  have  turned  your  home  into  a  lodging  house 
and  filled  it  with  strangers. " 

"I've  enjoyed  knowing  them.  My  sympathies  have 
been  made  larger." 

"Yes,  you  won't  even  collect  your  rents." 

"Still  I've  always  managed  to  get  along/'  was  the 
cheerful  answer.  "I've  yet  a  roof  over  my  head." 

"But  is  this  battle  your's  alone,  Doctor?  You  are 
but  one  among  millions.  You  are  trying  to  bear  the 
burden  of  all  —  have  you  counted  the  cost?  Harriet's 
course  in  music  will  continue  two  years  longer  —  the  last 
year  she  must  spend  abroad.  Her  expenses  will  be 
great.  This  settlement  is  a  generous  one,  no  matter 
what  Bivens's  motive. " 

"I  can't  compromise  with  a  man  who  has  crushed  my 
business  by  a  conspiracy  of  organized  blackmail. " 

"Oh,  come,  come,  Doctor,  talk  common  sense.  The 
American  Chemical  Company  has  simply  dispensed  with 
the  services  of  the  jobber,  and  the  retailer.  They 
manufacture  the  goods  and  sell  them  direct  to  the  con 
sumer  through  their  own  stores.  The  day  of  the  jobber 
and  retailer  is  done.  They  had  to  go.  You  were  not 
ruined  by  blackmail,  you  were  crushed  by  a  law  of  prog 
ress  as  resistless  as  the  law  of  gravity." 


n8  The  Root  of  Evil 

The  doctor's  gray  eyes  flashed  with  sudden  inspira 
tion. 

''If  the  law  of  gravity  is  unjust  it  will  be  abolished. 
If  civilization  is  unjust  it  must  be  put  down.  There 
can  be  no  contradiction  in  life  when  once  we  know  the 
truth.  I  can't  compromise  with  Bivens  —  I  refuse  his 
generosity.  I'll  take  only  what  the  last  tribunal  of  the 
people  shall  give  me  —  justice." 

"The  last  tribunal  of  the  people  will  give  you 
nothing,"  the  lawyer  said,  emphatically. 

"I'll  stand  or  fall  with  it.  I  make  common  cause  with 
the  people.  I  know  that  Bivens  is  a  power  now.  He 
chooses  judges,  defies  the  law,  bribes  legislatures  and  city 
councils  and  imagines  that  he  rules  the  nation.  But  the 
Napoleons  of  finance  to-day  will  be  wearing  stripes 
in  Sing  Sing  to-morrow.  We  are  merely  passing 
through  a  period  of  transition  which  brings  suf 
fering  and  confusion.  The  end  is  sure,  because 
evil  carries  within  itself  the  seed  of  death.  A  des 
potism  of  money  cannot  be  fastened  on  the  people 
of  America." 

"But,  Doctor,"  Stuart  interrupted  persuasively,  "he 
is  not  trying  to  fasten  a  despotism  on  America,  on  you, 
or  anybody  else  in  this  offer. " 

The  older  man  ignored  the  interruption  and  continued 
with  a  dreamy  look : 

"Only  a  few  years  ago  a  great  millionaire  who  lived 
in  a  palace  on  Fifth  Avenue  boldly  said  to  a  newspaper 
reporter:  'The  public  be  d — d!'  Times  have  changed. 
The  millionaires  have  begun  to  buy  the  newspapers  and 
beg  for  public  favour.  We  are  walking  on  the  crust 
of  a  volcano  of  public  wrath. " 

"But  how  long  must  we  wait  for  this  volcanic  out 
burst  of  public  wrath?" 

"It's  of  no  importance.     The  big  thing  is  that  in 


An  Old  Perfume  119 

America  a  new  force  has  appeared  in  the  world,  the 
common  consciousness  of  a  passion  for  justice  in  the 
hearts  of  millions  of  enlightened  freemen  clothed  with 
power!  Never  before  has  manhood  had  this  supreme 
opportunity.  Under  its  influence  this  insane  passion 
for  gold  must  slowly  but  surely  be  transformed  into  a 
desire  for  real  wealth  of  mind  and  soul.  The  evils  of 
our  time  are  not  so  great  as  those  of  our  fathers.  We 
merely  feel  them  more  keenly.  The  trouble  is  our  faith 
grows  dim  in  these  moments  of  stress.  As  for  me  I 
lift  up  my  head  and  believe  in  my  fellow-man.  We 
are  just  entering  a  new  and  wonderful  era  —  the  era 
of  electricity  and  mystery,  of  struggle,  aspiration,  the 
passion  for  the  eternal.  I  am  content  to  live  and  fight 
for  the  right,  win  or  lose,  and  play  my  little  part  in  this 
mighty  drama!'' 

"I  had  hoped  you  were  tired  of  fighting  a  losing 
battle." 

"Tired  of  fighting  a  losing  battle?  You've  forgotten, 
perhaps,  that  I'm  a  veteran  of  the  civil  war.  You  know 
we  were  defeated  year  after  year,  battle  after  battle, 
until  it  looked  as  if  Lee  was  invincible.  And  then  a  silent 
dark  man  with  a  big  black  cigar  in  his  thoughtful  mouth 
came  slowly  out  of  the  West  and  we  commenced  to 
move  forward  under  his  leadership  inch  by  inch.  It  was 
slow,  and  the  dead  lay  ever  in  piles  around  us  —  but 
still  we  moved  —  always  forward,  never  backward.  And 
when  at  last  the  men  saw  it,  they  began  to  laugh  at 
Death.  Their  eyes  had  seen  the  first  flash  of  the  com 
ing  glory  of  the  Lord ! " 

The  doctor  paused  a  moment  and  looked  at  Stuart 
with  a  curious  expression  of  pity  shining  through  his 
gray  eyes. 

"What  a  wonderful  old  world  this  is,  if  we  only  lift 
up  our  heads  and  see  it.  Across  its  fields  and  valleys 


120  The  Root  of  Evil 

armies  have  marched  and  counter-marched  for  four 
thousand  years,  a  world  of  tears  and  blood,  of  tyranny 
and  oppression,  of  envy  and  hate,  of  passion  and  sin  - 
and  yet  it  has  always  been  growing  better,  brighter  and 
more  beautiful.  Wooden  shoes  have  always  been  ring 
ing  on  stairs  of  gold  as  men  from  the  depths  have 
climbed  higher  and  higher.  I'll  fight  this  battle  to  a 
finish  and  I'll  win.  If  God  lives  I'll  win  —  I'm  so  sure 
of  it,  my  boy. " 

The  doctor  paused  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"I'm  so  sure  of  it,  that  I'm  not  only  going  to  refuse 
this  bribe  from  Bivens,  but  my  answer  will  be  a 
harder  blow.  I'm  going  to  begin  another  bigger  and 
more  important  suit  for  the  dissolution  of  the  American 
Chemical  Trust." 

"You  can't  mean  this!" 

"I  do!"  was  the  firm  response. 

Stuart  slipped  his  arm  around  the  older  man  with  a 
movement  of  instinctive  tenderness. 

"Look  here,  Doctor,  I've  lived  in  your  home  for  four 
teen  years  and  I've  grown  to  love  you  as  my  own  father." 

"I  know,  my  boy." 

"You  must  listen  to  me  now!"  the  younger  man 
insisted  with  deep  emotion.  "I  can  give  no  time  to 
your  suit.  I  am  just  entering  on  a  great  struggle  for 
the  people.  Tremendous  issues  are  at  stake." 

"And  your  own  career  hangs  on  the  outcome,  too?" 
the  doctor  interrupted. 

"Yes." 

"You'll  go  down  a  wreck  if  you  fail. " 

*  Perhaps." 

"And  you're  going  to  risk  all  without  a  moment's 
hesitation?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 


An  Old  Perfume  121 

"It's  my  duty." 

"Good  boy!"  the  older  man  cried,  seizing  Stuart's 
hand.  "You  can't  fail.  That's  why  I'm  going  to  risk 
all  in  my  fight. " 

"But  the  cases  are  not  the  same. " 

"No,  I'm  old  and  played  out  —  my  life's  sands  are 
nearly  run,  I  haven't  much  to  risk  —  but  such  as  I  have 
I  offer  it  freely  to  God  and  my  country.  I  envy  you 
the  opportunity  to  make  a  greater  sacrifice  —  and  you 
advise  me  to  compromise  for  a  paltry  sum  of  money 
a  righteous  cause  merely  to  save  my  own  skin  while 
you  tell  me  in  the  same  breath  that  you  are  just  entering 
the  lists  against  the  one  unconquerable  group  of  finan 
cial  buccaneers  in  America  and  that  you've  set  your 
life  on  the  issue." 

The  doctor  seized  Stuart's  hand,  wrung  it  and  laughed. 

"Congratulations,  my  boy  —  I'm  proud  of  you  — 
proud  that  you  live  in  my  house,  proud  that  I've  known 
and  loved  you,  and  tried  to  teach  you  the  joy  and  the 
foolishness  of  throwing  your  life  away!" 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand  the  stalwart  figure  of  the  old 
man  passed  out  and  left  him  brooding  in  sorrowful  silence. 

"If  the  doctor  and  Harriet  were  only  out  of  this!"  he 
exclaimed.  "It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  the  future ! " 

He  picked  up  Nan's  unanswered  letter  and  read  it 
again  and  the  faint  perfume  of  the  delicate  paper  stole 
into  his  heart  with  a  thousand  aching  memories. 

He  seized  his  pen  at  last,  set  his  face  like  flint  and 
resolutely  wrote  his  answer: 

Dear  Nan: 

Your  letter  is  very  kind.  I'll  be  honest  and  tell  you 
that  it  has  stirred  memories  I've  tried  to  kill  and  can't.  I 
hate  to  say  no,  but  I  must. 

Sincerely, 

JIM. 


122  The  Root  of  Evil 

As  he  drew  down  the  door  of  the  letter  box  on  the 
corner  to  post  this  reply  he  paused  a  moment.  A  wave 
of  desperate  longing  swept  his  heart. 

"My  God!     I  must  see  her!"  he  cried  in  anguish. 

And  then  the  strong  square  jaw  came  together  and  the 
struggle  was  over.  He  dropped  the  letter  in  the  box, 
turned  and  walked  slowly  home. 


CHAPTER  II 

AN   INTRUDER 

On  the  night  following  Stuart  worked  late  in  his 
office,  developing  his  great  case.  He  was  disappointed 
in  the  final  showing  of  the  evidence  to  be  presented  to 
the  Grand  Jury.  His  facts  were  not  as  strong  as  he 
expected  to  make  them. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  quit  work  and  hurried  home  to 
refresh  his  tired  spirit  with  Harriet's  music.  He  could 
think  more  clearly  while  she  played  for  him. 

As  he  hurried  up  the  steps  he  suddenly  collided  with 
a  handsome  young  fellow  just  emerging  from  the  door. 

His  first  hope  was  that  he  had  crippled  a  lodger.  He 
hated  the  sight  and  sound  of  them.  He  had  always 
felt  their  presence  in  the  house  an  unpardonable  in 
trusion.  A  second  look  showed  him  that  the  youngster 
who  had  hurried  down  the  steps  with  profound  apolo 
gies  and  much  embarrassment  was  not  a  lodger.  He 
was  dressed  too  handsomely  and  he  had  evidently  been 
calling  on  some  one. 

Perhaps  on  Harriet! 

A  sudden  fear  gripped  his  heart.  He  felt  like  follow 
ing  him  to  the  corner  and  demanding  his  reasons  for 
such  impudence. 

Where  had  he  seen  that  boy's  face? 

Somewhere,  beyond  a  doubt.  But  he  couldn't  place 
him. 

He  let  himself  in  softly  and  started  at  the  sight  of 
Harriet's  smiling  face  framed  in  the  parlor  doorway. 

123 


124  The  Root  of  Evil 

His  worst  fears  were  confirmed.  She  was  dressed  in 
a  dainty  evening  gown  and  had  evidently  enjoyed  her 
visitor. 

Stuart  pretended  not  to  notice  the  fact  and  asked 
her  to  play. 

He  fell  lazily  into  an  arm  chair  while  the  deft  fingers 
swept  the  keys.  As  he  sat  dreaming  and  watching 
the  rhythmic  movement  of  her  delicate  hands,  he  began 
to  realize  at  last  that  his  little  pal,  stub-nosed,  red 
haired  and  freckled,  had  silently  and  mysteriously 
grown  into  a  charming  woman.  He  wondered  what 
had  become  of  the  stub-nose?  It  seemed  to  have 
stretched  out  into  perfect  proportions.  The  freckles 
had  faded  into  a  delicate  white  skin  of  creamy  velvet. 
And  what  once  threatened  to  be  a  violent  red  head  had 
softened  into  beaten  gold. 

But  the  most  charming  feature  of  all  was  the  deep 
spiritual  tenderness  of  her  eyes,  blue  sometimes,  gray 
and  blue  sometimes,  but  always  with  little  brown 
spots  in  them  which  Nature  seemed  to  have  dropped  by 
accident  the  day  she  painted  them.  Stuart  always 
imagined  she  had  picked  up  a  brown  brush  by  mistake. 
He  thought  with  a  sudden  pang  of  the  possibility  of  losing 
her.  She  was  twenty- three  now,  in  the  pride  and  glory 
of  perfect  young  womanhood,  and  yet  she  had  no 
lovers.  He  wondered  why?  Her  music  of  course.  It 
had  been  the  one  absorbing  passion  of  life.  Her  prog 
ress  had  been  slow  for  the  first  years,  while  at  college. 
But  during  the  past  two  years  of  training  every  lesson 
seemed  to  tell.  He  had  watched  her  development  with 
pride  and  brooding  tenderness.  And  her  eyes  had  al 
ways  sparkled  with  deep  joy  at  his  slightest  word  of 
praise.  For  the  first  time  it  had  occurred  to  him  as  an 
immediate  possibility  that  she  might  marry  and  their 
lives  drift  apart. 


An  Intruder  125 

He  resented  the  thought  with  unreasonable  anger. 
Of  course  she  must  marry.  And  he  would  have  to  give 
her  up. 

He  began  to  realize  dimly  how  much  he  owed  to  her 
of  peace  and  happiness  during  the  past  nine  lonely 
years.  A  sweet  comradeship  had  grown  between  them 
deeper  and  more  tender  than  the  tie  which  binds  a 
brother  and  sister,  and  he  had  taken  it  as  a  matter  of 
course.  He  resented  the  idea  of  a  break  in  their  rela 
tions.  Yet  why  should  he?  What  rights  had  he  over 
her  life?  Absolutely  none,  of  course.  He  wondered 
vaguely  if  she  were  sly  enough  to  have  a  sweetheart 
and  let  nobody  know?  Who  was  that  fellow?  Where 
had  he  met  him  before? 

He  rose  with  a  sudden  frown.  Sure  as  fate  —  the 
very  boy  —  the  tall  dreamy-looking  youngster  who 
danced  with  her  so  many  times  that  night  ten  years 
ago  at  her  birthday  party !  She  said  he  was  too  frail  — 
that  her  prince  must  be  strong.  Well,  confound  him, 
he  had  gotten  strong.  That's  why  he  had  failed  to 
place  him  at  first.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  put  a  stop 
to  it.  He  was  her  guardian  anyway.  Her  father  was 
so  absorbed  in  saving  the  world,  any  thief  could  slip 
in  and  steal  his  daughter  under  his  very  nose.  The 
fellow  who  took  Harriet  would  have  to  measure  up  to 
the  full  stature  of  a  man.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  that. 

He  walked  over  to  the  piano  and  stood  behind  her  a 
moment. 

When  the  last  note  died  softly  away  and  she  began 
turning  the  pages  of  a  pile  of  music  sheets  without 
looking  up,  Stuart  said,  with  a  studied  indifference: 

"Tell  me,  little  pal,  who  was  that  tall  young  fellow 
I  ran  into  on  the  steps?" 

"Why,  don't  you  remember  my  frail  young  admirer 
of  long  ago?" 


126  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Do  you  love  him,  girlie?" 

Stuart  bent  low  and  looked  searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

Her  fingers  slipped  lazily  over  the  keys  in  little  touches 
of  half -forgot  ten  songs. 

"When  I  was  very, very  young,  I  thought  I  did.  It 
makes  me  laugh  now.  It's  wonderful  how  much  we 
can  outgrow,  isn't  it?" 

"I'm  glad  you've  outgrown  this." 

"Why?     He's  an  awfully  nice  fellow." 

"Perhaps  — but  I  don't  like  him." 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"I  just  don't  like  him  and  I  don't  want  you  to  like 
him." 

"Oh!" 

"You  see,  little  pal,  I'm  your  guardian." 

"Are  you?" 

"Yes,  and  I'm  giving  you  due  legal  notice  that  you 
have  no  right  to  marry  without  my  consent  —  you 
promise  to  make  me  your  confidant?" 

A  soft  laugh  full  of  tenderness  and  joy  came  from  the 
girl  as  she  turned  her  eyes  upward  for  the  first  time: 

"All  right,   guardie,   I'll   confer  with  you   on  that 


CHAPTER  III 

A    STRAIGHT   TIP 

Nan  received  the  announcement  of  Bivens's  failure  to 
settle  Woodman's  suit  with  a  grim  resolution  to  win 
now,  at  all  hazards.  The  sensational  reports  of  Stuart's 
action  against  the  big  financiers  had  given  her  quick 
mind  the  cue  to  a  new  line  of  stratagem.  She  began 
cautiously. 

"You  are  not  going  to  give  up  a  thing  I've  set  my 
heart  on  merely  because  old  Woodman's  a  fool,  are  you?  " 
she  asked  her  husband,  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  "Jim 
Stuart  is  the  best  friend  you  ever  had.  He  has  become 
one  of  the  most  famous  men  in  America.  He  would 
lend  distinction  to  our  house.  I  want  him  at  our  next 
entertainment." 

"The  thing  that  puzzles  me,"  Bivens  broke  in, 
"is  why  the  devil  he  will  not  come  to  the  house.  When 
I  meet  him  down  town  he's  always  friendly." 

Nan's  lips  quivered  with  a  queer  little  smile. 

"Will  he  succeed  in  this  action  against  these  men?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"He  can't  get  the  facts." 

"If  he  could  get  them  and  did  succeed,  what  would 
happen?" 

"He'd  shake  the  foundations  of  the  financial  world." 

"You  could  get  the  facts,  couldn't  you,  dear?" 

Nan  spoke  in  the  softest  tones. 

"I  have  them  already." 

127 


128  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Why  not  give  them  to  him?" 

"I  had  thought  of  that  —  but  it's  dangerous." 

"Why  dangerous?" 
.?  "It  might  bring  on  a  panic. " 

"What  have  you  to  lose  by  it?" 

"Nothing,  if  I'm  wise." 

"I've  never  known  anybody  to  call  you  a  fool." 

"A  panic's  a  dangerous  thing  to  monkey  with." 

"Nonsense!"  Nan  cried  with  enthusiasm.  "I'll 
back  you  to  win  when  the  test  comes." 

Bivens  smiled  with  pride. 

"Yes.  I  could  win,  I  think,  having  a  little  inside 
information  about  what  may  happen." 

"Why  don't  you  do  it,  then?" 

"It's    dangerous,"    Bivens    repeated,    thoughtfully. 

"It  couldn't  injure  Stuart?  "  his  wife  asked  cautiously. 

"No.  It  couldn't  hurt  him.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
might  make  him  the  unconscious  instrument  of  a  great 
personal  vengeance,  double  my  fortune  and  possibly 
land  Jim  in  the  White  House." 

"You  must  do  it,  dear!"  his  wife  cried,  trembling 
with  suppressed  excitement.  Bivens  hesitated  and  shook 
his  head. 

"It's  playing  with  dynamite." 

"It's  worth  the  risk  to  double  your  fortune  —  do  it 
for  my  sake!" 

Nan  leaned  close  and  pressed  her  husband's  hand 
while  her  dark  eyes  found  their  way  into  his  heart. 
The  hard  mouth  smiled  as  he  took  her  flushed  face  in 
his  hands  and  kissed  her. 

"I'll  do  it,"  he  said  with  firm  accent. 

"I  know  you'll  win  —  you  never  fail!"  she  cried, 
"You'll  not  lose  a  moment?" 

"No.     I'll   'phone  him   at  once." 

Bivens  called  Stuart  and  made  an  appointment  to 


A  Straight  Tip  129 

meet  him  at  the  Algonquin  Club  for  dinner  two  days 
later. 

"Why  two  days'  delay?"  Nan  asked  petulantly. 

"It  will  require  that  time  to  prepare  the  papers. 
Don't  worry.  I'll  put  the  thing  through  now." 

When  Stuart  sat  down  with  Bivens  in  one  of  the 
magnificent  private  dining  rooms  of  his  millionaire 
club  two  days  later,  he  was  struck  with  the  perfection 
of  the  financier's  dress,  and  the  easy  elegance  of  his 
manners. 

"Nan  has  surely  done  wonders  with  some  pretty 
crude  material!"  he  mused. 

As  the  meal  progressed  the  lawyer's  imagination 
continued  to  picture  the  process  of  training  through 
which  she  had  put  Bivens  to  develop  from  the  poor 
white  Southerner,  the  polished  little  man  of  the  gilded 
world  he  now  saw.  No  flight  of  his  fancy  could  imagine 
the  real  humour  of  it  all.  He  recalled  Nan's  diary  with 
grim  amusement. 

While  Bivens  had  really  been  wax  in  her  skillful  hands 
since  the  day  of  her  marriage,  the  one  task  she  found 
hard  was  her  desperate  and  determined  effort  to  make 
him  a  well-groomed  man.  She  was  finally  compelled 
to  write  out  instructions  for  his  daily  conduct  and  en 
force  them  with  all  sorts  of  threats  and  blandishments. 
She  pasted  this  programme  in  Bivens's  hat,  at  last, 
and  he  was  in  mortal  terror  lest  some  one  should  lift 
the  inside  band  and  read  them.  They  were  minute 
and  painfully  insistent  on  the  excessive  use  of  soap  and 
water.  They  required  that  he  wash  and  scrub  two  and 
three  times  daily.  Not  only  did  they  prescribe  tooth 
brushes  and  mouth  washes,  with  all  sorts  of  pastes  and 
powders,  but  that  he  should  follow  it  with  an  invention 
of  the  devil  for  torturing  the  gums  known  as  "dental 
floss."  To  get  even  with  the  man  who  invented  the 


130  The  Root  of  Evil 

thing  Bivens  bought  him  out  and  stopped  its  manu 
facture  —  only  to  find  the  scoundrel  had  invented 
a  new  one  and  had  it  on  the  market  three  weeks 
later. 

In  the  midst  of  this  agony  of  breaking  him  to  the 
copious  use  of  water,  Bivens  found  a  doctor  who  boldly 
declared  that  excessive  bathing  was  ruinous  to  the 
health  —  that  water  was  made  for  fish  and  air  for  man. 
The  little  millionaire  made  him  chief  of  the  staff  of 
his  household  doctors,  but  Nan  refused  to  admit  him 
when  she  learned  his  views.  Bivens  secretly  built  him 
a  hospital,  endowed  it,  and  gave  a  fund  to  found  a 
magazine  to  proclaim  his  gospel. 

It  took  two  years  to  thoroughly  break  him  so  that 
she  could  always  be  sure  that  his  nails  were  trimmed 
and  his  clothes  in  perfect  style.  He  had  long  since 
ceased  to  struggle  and  had  found  much  happiness  of 
late  years  in  vying  with  her  in  the  perfection  of  his 
personal  appearance  until  he  had  come  to  fit  into  the 
great  establishments,  which  he  had  built  at  her  sugges 
tion,  as  though  to  the  manor  born. 

When  the  dinner  was  finished  Bivens  dismissed  the 
waiter,  lighted  one  of  his  huge  cigars  and  drew  from  a 
morocco  case  which  he  had  placed  beside  his  chair  a 
type-written  manuscript.  He  turned  its  leaves  thought 
fully  a  moment  and  handed  them  to  Stuart. 

"  There's  a  document,  Jim,  that  cost  me  ten  thousand 
dollars  to  prepare;  for  whose  suppression  a  million 
dollars  would  be  paid  and  no  questions  asked." 

"And  you  give  it  to  me?"  the  District  Attorney 
asked,  with  a  smile. 

"I  give  it  to  you." 

"But  why  this  generosity  on  your  part,  Cal?" 

The  sarcasm  which  the  lawyer  threw  into  the  playful 
banter  of  his  tone  was  not  lost  on  the  financier.  The 


A  Straight  Tip  131 

mask  of  his  cunning,  dark  visage  was  not  slipped  for  a 
moment  as  he  slowly  replied : 

"I  have  anticipated  that  question.  I  answer  it 
fully  and  frankly.  There  is  enough  dynamite  in  that 
document  to  blow  up  half  of  Wall  Street  and  land  some 
body  in  the  White  House." 

"And  many  in  the  morgue?" 

"And  some  in  the  penitentiary.  I've  watched  your 
work  the  past  nine  years  with  genuine  pride,  Jim. 
You've  said  a  lot  of  hard  things  about  rich  malefactors, 
but  you've  never  touched  me." 

"No,  I  think  you're  too  shrewd  to  be  caught  in  that 
class,  Cal." 

"I  pride  myself  that  I  am.  It's  only  the  clumsy 
fool  who  gets  tangled  in  the  criminal  law.  But  a  lot 
of  them  have  done  it —  big  fellows  whose  names  fill 
the  world  with  noise.  I  've  taken  the  pains  to  put  into 
that  type-written  document  the  names,  the  dates,  the 
places,  the  deeds,  the  names  of  the  witnesses  and  all 
the  essential  facts.  Do  what  you  please  with  it.  If 
you  do  what  I  think  you  will,  some  men  who  are  wearing 
purple  and  fine  linen  will  be  wearing  stripes  before  an 
other  year  and  you  will  be  the  biggest  man  in  New 
York." 

"And  your  motive?" 

"Does  it  matter?" 

"It  vitally  affects  the  credibility  of  this  story." 

"You  must  know  my  motive?" 

"I  prefer  to  be  sure  of  it  before  taking  so  important 
and  daring  an  action  as  you  suggest." 

Bivens  rose  and  stood  before  his  friend  with  his 
smooth  hands  folded  behind  his  back. 

"You  believe  me,  Jim,  when  I  say  that  my  pride 
in  your  career  is  genuine?" 

I've  never  doubted  it, "  was  the  quick  answer. 


132  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Then  two  suggestions  will  be  enough.  Perhaps 
I  wish  to  get  even  with  some  men  who  have  done  me 
a  dirty  trick  or  two,  and  perhaps,  incidentally,  in  the 
excitement  which  will  follow  this  exposure  of  fraud  and 
crime,  I  may  make  an  honest  penny  —  is  that  enough?  " 

"Quite." 

"And  you'll  make  the  attack  at  once?" 

Stuart  glanced  rapidly  through  the  first  page  of  the 
document  and  his  eyes  began  to  dance  with  excitement. 

"The  only  favour  I  ask,"  Bivens  added,  "is  twenty- 
four  hours'  notice  before  you  act. " 

"I'll  let  you  know." 

Stuart  rose  quickly,  placed  the  document  in  his  in 
side  pocket  and  hurried  home. 


CHAPTER  IV 

EVERY  MAN'S  SHADOW 

The  deeper  the  young  lawyer  probed  into  the  mass 
of  corruption  Bivens  had  placed  in  his  hands  the  more 
profound  became  his  surprise.  At  first  he  was  inclined 
to  scout  the  whole  story  as  an  exaggeration  invented 
in  the  fierce  fight  with  financial  foes. 

It  was  incredible! 

That  men  whose  names  were  the  synonyms  of 
honesty  and  fair  dealing,  men  entrusted  with  the  man 
agement  of  companies  whose  assets  represented  the 
savings  of  millions  of  poor  men,  the  sole  defense  of 
millions  of  helpless  women  and  children  —  that  these 
trusted  leaders  of  the  world  were  habitually  prosti 
tuting  their  trusts  for  personal  gain,  staggered  belief. 

He  delayed  action  and  began  a  careful,  patient, 
thorough  investigation.  As  it  proceeded,  his  amaze 
ment  increased.  He  found  that  Bivens  had  only 
scratched  the  surface  of  the  truth.  He  found  that 
the  system  of  fraud  and  chicanery  had  spread  from  the 
heads  of  the  big  companies  until  the  whole  business 
world  was  honeycombed  with  its  corruption. 

New  York,  the  financial  centre  of  the  Nation,  had 
gone  mad  with  the  insane  passion  for  money  at  all 
hazards  —  by  all  means,  fair  or  foul.  The  Nation  was 
on  the  tidal  wave  of  the  most  wonderful  industrial 
boom  in  its  history.  The  price  of  stocks  had  reached 
fabulous  figures  and  still  soared  to  greater  heights. 
Millionaires  were  springing  up,  like  mushrooms,  in  a 

133 


134  The  Root  of  Evil 

night.  Waiters  at  fashionable  hotels,  who  hung  on 
the  chairs  of  rich  guests  with  more  than  usual  fawn 
ing,  were  boasting  of  fortunes  made  in  a  day.  Broadway 
and  Central  Park  and  every  avenue  leading  to  the  long 
stretches  of  good  country  roads  flashed  with  hundreds 
of  new  automobiles,  crowded  with  strange  smiling  faces. 

Two  months  had  passed  since  Bivens  placed  in  the 
District  Attorney's  hands  the  document  which  was 
destined  to  make  sad  history  in  the  annals  of  the 
metropolis.  Stuart  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to 
act.  It  was  his  solemn  duty  to  the  people. 

He  sat  in  his  private  office  in  one  of  the  great  sky 
scrapers  down  town  holding  in  his  hand  a  list  of  the 
men  he  was  about  to  ask  the  Grand  Jury  to  indict  for 
crimes  which  would  send  them  to  prison,  exile  and 
dishonoured  death.  It  was  a  glorious  morning  in  May. 
The  window  was  open  and  a  soft  wind  was  blowing  from 
the  south.  The  view  of  the  blue  expanse  of  the  great 
harbour  and  towering  hills  of  Staten  Island  in  the  dis 
tance  was  entrancing.  The  south  wind  rilled  his  heart 
with  memories  of  high  ideals,  and  noble  aspirations 
born  in  his  own  land  of  poverty  and  want. 

His  people  in  the  South  had  known  the  real  horrors 
of  want,  had  fought  the  grim  battle,  won  an  honest 
living  and  kept  their  lives  clean  and  strong.  And  just 
because  they  had,  his  heart  was  rilled  with  a  great  pity 
as  he  read  over  and  over  again  the  illustrious  names 
he  was  about  to  blacken  with  the  stain  of  crime.  He 
thought  of  women  in  sheltered  homes  up  town  whose 
necks  would  bend  to  the  storm;  of  the  anguish  of  old- 
fashioned  fathers  and  mothers  who  could  think  no 
evil  of  their  own,  whose  spirits  would  droop  and  die 
at  the  first  breath  of  shame.  He  rose  at  last  with 
calm  decision. 

"I've  got  to  do  it  — that's  all.     But  before  I  do, 


Every  Man's  Shadow  135 

I'm  going  to  know  one  or  two  things  beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt." 

He  seized  his  telephone  and  made  an  appointment  to 
call  at  once  on  Bivens. 

The  financier  extended  his  delicate  hand  and  with  a 
cordial  smile  led  Stuart  to  a  seat  beside  his  desk.  The 
only  sign  he  betrayed  of  deep  emotion  was  the  ice- 
like  coldness  of  his  slender  fingers. 

"Well,  Jim,  you've  completed  your  very  thorough 
investigation?" 

"How  did  you  know  I  was  making  a  thorough  in 
vestigation?" 

Stuart  looked  at  Bivens  with  a  quick  movement  of 
surprise.  The  little  man  was  gazing  intently  at  the 
ceiling. 

"I  make  it  my  business  to  know  things  which  vitally 
interest  me.  You  found  my  facts  accurate?" 

"Remarkably  so." 

"And  you  are  ready   to   strike?" 

The  black  eyes  flashed. 

"When  I  have  confirmed  some  statements  you  have 
made  in  your  story  concerning  the  private  life  of  these 
men.  How  do  you  know  the  accuracy  of  the  facts 
you  state  in  a  single  line,  for  instance,  about  the  private 
life  and  habits  of  the  president  of  a  certain  trust  com 
pany?" 

A  cold  smile  played  about  Bivens's  mouth  for  a 
moment. 

"You  don't  suppose  I  would  make  a  statement  like 
that  unless  I  know  it  to  be  true?" 

"I  found  all  your  other  facts  correct.  This  I  haven't 
been  able  to  verify.  You  make  it  incidentally,  as  though 
it  were  a  matter  of  slight  importance.  To  my  mind 
it's  the  key  to  the  man's  character  and  to  every  act 
of  his  life.  How  did  you  discover  it?" 


136  The  Root  of  Evil 

" Very  simply." 

Bivens  walked  to  his  door,  opened  it,  looked  outside, 
stepped  to  one  of  the  great  steel  safes  and  drew  its 
massive  doors  apart.  He  pulled  a  slip  from  a  cabinet 
fitted  with  a  card-case  index,  noted  the  number,  replaced 
the  card,  opened  another  door  and  drew  out  a  manu 
script  notebook  of  some  three  hundred  pages  of  type 
written  matter.  Each  page  was  written  without  spacing 
and  contained  as  many  words  as  the  average  page  of 
a  printed  novel.  On  the  back  of  the  morocco  cover  was 
printed  in  plain  gold  lettering: 

"THE  PRIVATE  LIFE  OF  NO.  560." 

He  handed  the  volume  to  Stuart,  closed  the  safe, 
and  resumed  his  seat. 

"You  may  take  that  book  with  you,  Jim,"  he  said 
quietly.  "I  trust  to  your  honour  not  to  reveal  its 
contents  except  in  the  discharge  of  your  sworn  duty  as 
an  officer  of  the  law.  You  will  find  in  it  the  record 
of  the  distinguished  president's  private  life  for  the  past 
ten  years  without  the  omission  of  a  single  event  of  any 
importance." 

Stuart  glanced  through  the  book  with  amazement. 

"How  did  you  come  into  possession  of  such  facts?" 

"No  trouble  at  all,"  was  the  easy  answer.  "It 
only  requires  a  little  money  and  a  little  patience  and  a 
little  care  in  selecting  the  right  men  for  the  right  job. 
Any  man  in  the  business  world  who  thinks  he  can  do 
as  he  pleases  in  this  town  will  wake  some  morning  with 
a  decided  jolt.  The  war  for  financial  supremacy  has 
developed  a  secret  service  which  approaches  perfection. 
The  secret  service  of  armies  is  child's  play  compared  to 
it. 

"Not  only  do  I  systematically  watch  my  employees 


Every  Man's  Shadow  137 

until  I  know  every  crook  and  turn  of  their  lives,  but  I 
watch  with  even  greater  care  the  heads  of  every  rival 
firm  in  every  department  of  the  industrial  world  where 
my  interests  touch  theirs. 

"I  not  only  watch  the  heads  of  firms,  I  watch  their 
trusted  assistants  and  confidential  men.  In  that  big 
safe  a  thousand  secrets  lie  locked  whose  revelation 
would  furnish  matter  enough  to  run  the  yellow  journals 
for  the  next  five  years. 

"  Every  man  who  holds  a  position  of  trust  and  puts 
his  hands  on  money  has  his  shadow.  It's  a  question 
of  business.  The  wholesaler  must  know  the  character 
of  the  retailer  to  whom  he  extends  credit.  A  trust 
must  know  what  its  remaining  independent  rivals 
are  doing,  what  business  they  are  developing,  what 
big  orders  they  seek.  I  -must  know,  and  I  must  know 
accurately  and  fully  what  every  enemy  is  doing,  what 
he  is  thinking,  with  whom  he  drinks,  where  he  spends 
his  time  and  how  he  lives. 

"Modern  business  is  war,  the  fiercest  and  most  cruel    •<•*• 
the  world  has  ever  known.     It  is  of  greater  importance 
to  a  modern  captain  of  industry  to  know  the  plans  of 
his  enemy  than  it  ever  was  to  the  commanding  general 
of  an  opposing  army." 

"I  see,"  Stuart  responded,   thoughtfully. 

"  There  are  men  down  there  in  the  street  now," 
Bivens  went  on  dreamily,  "who  are  wearing  silk  hats 
to-day  for  whom  the  prison  tailor  is  cutting  a  suit. 
I  have  their  records  in  that  silent  little  steel-clad  room. 
It's  a  pitiful  thing,  but  it's  life.  And,  believe  me,  the 
realities  of  our  every-day  life  here  are  more  wonderful 
than  the  wildest  romance  the  novelist  can  spin. 

"Last  year  I  had  a  man  of  genius  at  the  head  of  one 
of  my  corporations.  Not  the  slighest  suspicion  had 
ever  been  directed  against  him.  But  my  men  reported 


138  The  Root  of  Evil 

to  me  that  he  was  supporting  two  establishments, 
besides  the  one  he  kept  for  his  family,  and  that  in  those 
two  secret  orchards  which  he  tended  he  was  making 
presents  of  fine  jewelry.  An  examination  of  his  office 
by  experts  revealed  the  fact  that  he  was  wrong.  He 
was  bounced.  He  would  have  gone  no  matter  what  his 
accounts  showed.  It  is  only  a  question  of  time  and  a 
very  short  time  when  such  a  man  goes  wrong 

"The  scarcest  thing  in  New  York  to-day,  Jim,  is 
the  man  who  can't  be  bought  and  sold.  The  thing 
that's  beyond  price  in  the  business  world  is  character  — 
combined  with  brains.  That's  why  I  made  you  the 
offer  I  did  once  upon  a  time  to  come  in  with  me.  There 
are  positions  to-day  in  New  York  with  a  salary  of 
half  a  million  a  year  waiting  for  men  who  can  fill  them. 
If  I  could  find  one  man  of  the  highest  order  of  creative 
and  executive  ability  who  would  stand  by  me  in  my 
enterprises  I  could  be  the  richest  man  in  the  world  in 
ten  years. " 

Stuart  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  record  he  was  casu 
ally  scanning  and  smiled  into  Bivens's  dark,  serious  face. 

The  look  silenced  the  speaker.  The  little  man  knew 
instinctively  that  Stuart  was  at  that  moment  weighing 
his  own  life  and  character  by  the  merciless  standard 
he  had  set  up  for  others.  Judged  by  conventional 
laws  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  He  was  a  faithful  member 
of  his  church.  He  gave  liberally  to  its  work  and  gave 
generously  to  a  hundred  worthy  charities.  He  loved 
his  wife  with  old-fashioned  loyalty  and  tenderness  and 
grieved  that  she  was  childless.  He  stood  by  his  friends 
and  fought  his  enemies,  asking  no  quarter  and  giving 
none. 

Yet  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  knew  that,  judged  in 
the  great  white  light  of  the  Eternal  when  all  things 
hidden  shall  be  revealed,  he  could  not  stand  blameless. 


Every  Man's  Shadow  139 

He  knew  that  while  he  had  kept  within  the  letter  of 
the  law,  his  genius  consisted  in  the  skill  with  which  he 
had  learned  to  divert  other  men's  earnings  into  his 
own  coffers. 

And  deep  down  in  the  depths  of  his  memory  there 
lay  one  particular  deed  which  lent  colour  to  all  that 
followed.  He  knew  that  however  loftily  he  might 
discourse  at  present  about  "character,"  " honour," 
" integrity,"  and  "fair  dealing,"  he  had  stolen  the 
formula  from  his  big-hearted  employer  with  which  he 
had  laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune.  It  was  the 
first  half -million  that  came  hard.  It  was  this  first 
half-million  that  bore  the  stain  of  shame.  He  had 
justified  it  with  fine  sophistry  until  he  counted  himself 
a  benefactor  to  Woodman,  but  the  grim  fact  stood  out 
in  his  memory  with  growing  clearness  as  his  millions 
piled  up  with  each  succeeding  year. 

His  other  questionable  acts  on  which  the  fate  of 
millions  had  often  hung  he  had  no  difficulty  in  justifying. 
Business  was  war.  In  war  it  was  fair  to  deceive,  to 
march  in  the  night,  to  attack  when  least  suspected,  to 
strike  to  kill,  to  destroy  and  lay  waste  the  fairest 
countries  and  starve  your  enemy  into  submission. 

All  this  had  flashed  through  Bivens's  imagination 
when  Stuart  smiled,  and  in  spite  of  his  conscious 
dignity  and  power,  he  had  fallen  silent.  The  smile 
had  made  him  nervous.  He  wondered  vaguely  what 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  tall  quiet  man  that  provoked 
a  smile  at  such  a  serious  moment. 

He  wondered  particularly  whether  the  lawyer  could 
have  suspected  his  hobby,  for  he  had  one  of  the  most 
curious  —  a  collection  of  historic  material  on  the  origin 
of  American  fortunes.  The  origin  of  his  own  had  early 
made  Bivens  suspect  that  all  great  fortunes  which  had 
mounted  into  millions,  like  his  own,  may  have  been 


140  The  Root  of  Evil 

built  in  their  first  foundations  on  fraud.  He  wondered 
if  Stuart  had  by  any  accident  stumbled  on  this  informa 
tion.  Even  if  he  had  he  could  not  understand  his  real 
motive  in  such  an  investigation,  and  yet  the  lazy 
smile  with  which  he  looked  up  from  that  record  was 
disconcerting. 

Bivens  waited  for  him  to  speak.  The  moment  was 
one  big  with  fate.  Stuart  was  about  to  reach  a  decision 
that  would  make  history.  No  one  knew  so  well  its 
importance  as  the  keen  intellect  that  gleamed  behind 
the  little  black  eyes  watching  with  tireless  patience. 

Bivens  was  the  one  odd  man  in  a  thousand  who  knew 
that  big  events  were  not  to  be  found  in  earthquakes, 
tornadoes  and  battles.  He  had  long  since  learned  that 
the  events  which  shake  the  world  are  always  found  in 
the  silent  hours  when  the  soul  of  a  single  man  says, 
"I  will!" 

Below  he  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  city's  life.  On 
the  Curb  brokers  were  shouting  their  wares  with  their 
accustomed  gusto.  On  the  floor  of  the  Exchange  the 
tide  of  business  ebbed  and  flowed  with  the  fierce  pulse 
of  an  apparently  exhaustless  strength.  Men  bought  and 
sold  with  no  fear  of  to-morrow.  Yet  a  single  word 
from  the  lips  of  the  tall,  clean-shaven  young  officer 
of  the  law  and  a  storm  would  break  which  might  tear 
from  the  foundations  institutions  on  whose  solidity 
modern  civilization  seemed  to  rest. 

The  silence  at  length  became  suffocating  to  Bivens. 
He  moistened  his  lips  and  drew  his  smooth  fingers  softly 
over  his  silky  beard. 
"Well,  Jim,"  he  said  at  length.  "You  are  going  to  act?" 

In  the  moment's  pause  the  little  swarthy  body  never 
moved,  his  breath  ceased  and  every  nerve  quivered 
with  the  strain  and  yet  he  betrayed  nothing  to  the  man 
who  sat  before  him,  silent,  thoughtful. 


Every  Man's  Shadow  141 

Stuart  rose  abruptly,  his  reply  sharp  and  clear. 

"Yes,    I'm   going   to   act.'' 

" At  once?" 

" It's  my  duty." 

Bivens  grasped  his  hand. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Jim.  You  are  going  to  do  a 
big  thing,  one  of  the  biggest  things  in  our  history. 
You  are  going  to  teach  the  mighty  that  the  law  is 
mightier.  It  ought  to  land  you  at  the  very  top  in 
politics  or  any  other  old  place  you'd  like  to  climb." 

"That's  something  which  doesn't  interest  me  yet, 
Cal.  The  thing  that  stuns  me  is  that  I've  got  to  do 
so  painful  a  thing.  But  my  business  is  the  enforce 
ment  of  justice.  There's  one  thing  I  still  can't  under 
stand. 

He  paused  and  looked  at  Bivens  curiously. 

"What's  that?"  the  financier  softly  asked. 

"Why  you  of  all  men  on  earth  should  have  put  this 
information  in  my  hands.  The  honour  of  the  achieve 
ment,  if  good  shall  come  to  the  country,  is  really  yours, 
not  mine." 

"And  you  can't  conceive  of  my  acting  for  the  country's 
good?" 

Bivens's  black    eyes    twinkled. 

"Not  by  the  wildest  leap  of  my  imagination." 

The  twinkle  broadened  into  a  smile  as  the  lawyer 
continued : 

"Your  code  is  simple,  Cal.  There's  no  provision  in 
it  for  disinterested  effort  for  others.  Few  financiers  of 
modern  times  can  conceive  of  a  sane  man  deliberately 
working  for  the  good  of  the  people  as  against  his 
own.  In  your  face,  there  has  never  been  any  doubting, 
any  perplexity,  since  you  made  your  first  strike  in  New 
York.  Behind  your  black  eyes  there  has  always 
glowed  the  steady,  deadly  purpose  of  the  man  who 


142  The  Root  of  Evil 

knows  exactly  what  he  wants  and  how  he  is  going  to 
get  it.  This  time  you've  got  me  up  a  tree.  You  have 
rendered  the  people  a  great  service.  You  have  placed 
me  under  personal  obligations.  But  how  you  are 
going  to  get  anything  out  of  it  is  beyond  me. " 

"Oh,  I'll  have  my  reward,  my  boy,"  Bivens  answered 
jovially,  as  his  dainty  fingers  again  stroked  his  beard, 
pressing  his  mustache  back  from  the  thin  lips,  "and 
I  assure  you  it  will  not  be  purely  spiritual. " 

The  door  had  scarcely  closed  on  Stuart  when  Bivens 
pressed  the  button  which  called  his  confidential  secre 
tary. 

In  a  moment  the  man  stood  at  his  elbow  with  the 
tense  erect  bearing  of  an  orderly  on  the  field  of  battle. 
The  quick  nervous  touch  of  the  master's  hand  on  that 
button  had  told  to  his  sensitive  ears  the  story  of  a  com 
ing  life-and-death  struggle.  His  words  came  with 
sharp  nervous  energy: 

"Yes  sir?" 

The  financier  slowly  drew  the  big  cigar  from  his 
mouth  and  spoke  in  low  tones: 

"A  meeting  of  the  Allied  Bankers  here  in  30  minutes. 
No  telephone  messages.  A  personal  summons  to  each. 
They  enter  one  at  a  time  that  no  one  on  the  outside 
sees  them  come.  You  understand?" 

"I  understand." 

Bivens  raised  his  finger  in  warning.  "Your  life  on 
the  issue. " 

Trembling  with  excitement  the  secretary  turned  and 
quickly  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  V 

GATHERING   CLOUDS 

The  sensation  which  the  District  Attorney  sprang 
in  the  sudden  indictment  of  the  president  of  the  Iroquois 
Company  was  profound  and  far-reaching.  The  day 
before  the  indictment  was  presented  to  the  Grand 
Jury  stocks  began  to  tumble  without  any  apparent 
cause.  The  "big  interests"  who  had  hitherto  counted 
on  exhaustless  funds  to  sustain  them  in  any  market 
they  might  choose  to  make  were  paralyzed  by  the  sud 
denness  of  the  attack  on  stocks  and  the  daring  of  its 
hidden  leader. 

When  the  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  the  great  man  had 
been  served  and  he  was  admitted  to  bail  to  await  his 
coming  trial,  there  was  a  feeble  rally  in  the  market, 
but  the  rats  quickly  began  to  desert  a  sinking  ship. 
The  president  under  indictment  had  ceased  to  be  a 
power.  There  was  a  wild  scramble  of  his  associates 
who  were  equally  guilty  to  save  their  own  skins.  The 
press,  which  at  first  denounced  Stuart,  now  boldly 
demanded  the  merciless  prosecution  of  all  the  guilty. 
And  they  hailed  the  brilliant  young  District  Attorney 
as  the  coming  man. 

In  the  meantime  all  kinds  of  securities  continued  to 
tumble.  For  six  consecutive  days  stocks  had  fallen 
with  scarcely  an  hour's  temporary  rally.  Every  effort 
of  the  bull  operators,  who  had  ruled  the  market  for  the 
two  years  past,  to  stem  the  tide  was  futile.  Below  the 
surface,  in  the  silent  depths  of  growing  suspicion  and 

143 


144  The  Root  of  Evil 

fear,  an  army  of  sappers  and  miners  under  the  eye  of 
one  man  were  digging  at  the  foundations  of  the  business 
world  —  the  faith  of  man  in  his  fellow-man. 

Each  day  there  was  a  crash  and  each  day  the  little 
financier  and  his  unscrupulous  allies  marked  a  new 
victim.  The  next  day  the  death  notice  was  posted 
on  a  new  door,  and  when  the  bomb  had  exploded-  they 
picked  up  the  pieces  and  moved  to  a  new  attack. 

In  the  midst  of  the  campaign  for  the  destruction  of 
public  credit  which  Bivens  and  his  associates,  the  Al 
lied  Bankers,  were  conducting  with  such  profound 
secrecy  and  such  remarkable  results,  when  their  profits 
had  piled  up  into  millions,  a  bomb  was  suddenly  ex 
ploded  under  their  own  headquarters. 

The  Van  Dam  Trust  Company  was  put  under  the 
ban  of  the  New  York  Clearing  House.  The  act  was  a 
breach  of  faith,  utterly  unwarranted  by  any  known  law 
of  the  game.  But  it  was  done. 

When  the  president  of  the  company  walked  quietly 
into  Bivens's  office  and  made  the  announcement,  for 
a  moment  the  little  dark  man  completely  lost  his  nerve 
—  cold  beads  of  sweat  started  from  his  swarthy  fore 
head. 

"Are  you  joking?"  he  gasped. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  joke  about  my  own  funeral?" 

"No,  of  course  not,  but  there  must  be  some  mistake. " 

"There's  no  mistake.  It's  a  blow  below  the  belt, 
but  it's  a  knockout  for  the  moment.  They  know  we 
are  solvent,  two  dollars  for  one.  But  they  know  we 
have  $90,000,000  on  deposit  and  we  have  some  big 
enemies.  They  know  that  the  group  we  have  supported 
have  smashed  this  market,  and  they've  set  out  to  fight 
the  devil  with  fire.  They're  determined  to  force  a 
show-down  and  see  how  much  real  money  is  behind  us. 
We  can  pull  through  if  we  stand  together. " 


Gathering  Clouds  145 

The  stolid  face  of  the  banker  became  a  motionless 
mask  as  he  asked: 

"Are  we  going  to  stand  together?" 

Bivens  sprang  to  his  feet,  exclaiming  fiercely: 

" Until  hell  freezes  over!" 

The  banker  smiled  feebly  for  the  first  time  in  a  week. 

"Then  it's  all  right,  Mr.  Bivens.  We'll  pull  through. 
They'll  start  a  run  on  us  to-morrow.  Five  millions 
in  cash  will  meet  it  and  we'll  win,  hands  down.  We 
have  powerful  friends.  Our  only  sin  is  our  association 
with  your  group.  We  must  have  that  five  millions 
in  the  safe  before  the  doors  are  opened  to-morrow." 

"You  shall  have  it,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

With  a  cheerful  pressure  of  the  hand  the  president 
of  the  Van  Dam  Trust  Company  left  and  Bivens  called 
his  secretary. 

"We  turn  the  market  to-morrow  —  orders  to  all 
our  men.  Knock  the  bottom  out  of  it  until  the  noon 
hour,  then  turn  and  send  it  skyward  with  a  bound. 
You  understand?" 

"Yes  sir." 

With  an  instinctive  military  salute  the  secretary 
hurried  to  execute  the  order. 

When  Dr.  Woodman  returned  home  that  night  from 
one  of  his  endless  tramps  among  the  poor,  Harriet 
opened  the  door. 

Something  about  the  expression  of  his  face  startled 
her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  saw  in  its  gaunt 
lines  the  shadow  of  despair.  He  had  aged  rapidly  of 
late,  but  the  sunlight  had  never  before  quite  faded 
from  his  eyes. 

"What  is  it,  Papa  dear?"  she  asked  tenderly,  slipping 
an  arm  about  his  neck  as  she  drew  him  down  into  his 
favourite  chair. 


146  The  Root  of  Evil 

"What, child?"  he  responded  vaguely. 

"You  look  utterly  worn  out.  Tell  me  what's  the 
matter.  I'm  no  longer  a  child.  I'm  a  woman  now  — 
strong  and  well  and  brave.  Let  me  help  you." 

"You  do  help  me,  baby!"  he  laughed  with  an  effort 
at  his  old-time  joyous  spirit.  "Every  time  I  touch 
your  little  hand,  you  give  me  new  life.  Every  note 
from  your  sweet  voice  thrills  me  with  new  hope. '  And 
I  dream  dreams  and  build  castles  and  plan  for  to-mor 
row  as  if  I  were  a  boy.  What  more  can  a  woman  do? 
What  more  did  God  mean  for  a  beautiful  daughter 
to  do  for  her  old  father?  " 

"Well,  I  want  to  do  more,  I  want  to^  share  your 
troubles  and  help  you  carry  your  burdens." 

"And  so  you  shall,  my  dear.  Some  day  your  voice 
will  thrill  thousands  as  it  now  thrills  my  heart.  You'll 
win  fame  and  wealth  for  your  father.  You  shall  care 
for  him  in  old  age.  And  his  pride  and  joy  shall  be  to 
say  to  those  he  meets  —  'the  great  singer,  yes,  my 
daughter,  sir  —  my  little  baby ! ' ' 

Harriet  nestled  closer. 

"But  I  want  to  help  now.  I'm  afraid  I've  been 
thoughtless  and  selfish.  You  look  so  miserable  to-night. 
It  cuts  me  to  the  heart." 

" Nonsense,  Baby  dear,"  he  broke  in  cheerfully. 
"I'm  not  miserable.  I've  really  had  a  good  day. 
I've  spent  the  whole  afternoon  superintending  the 
distributing  of  flowers  among  the  hospitals.  And 
I ' ve  discovered  a  curious  thing  —  you  couldn't  imagine 
what  it  is?" 

The  doctor  paused  and  laughed  in  his  old  playful 
way. 

"What?  "she  cried. 

Harriet  clapped  her  hands  with  a  moment's  childish 
happiness  as  she  had  done  so  often  when  her  father 


Gathering  Clouds  147 

propounded  one  of  his  mysterious  problems  for  her 
solution. 

The  doctor  whispered: 

"I've  discovered  that  pinks  are  feminine  and  roses 
masculine. " 

"How?" 

"Because  the  men  in  the  hospitals  all  beg  for  pinks 
and  the  women  for  roses.  It's  curious.  I  never  hit 
on  the  explanation  before.  Isn't  it  reasonable?" 

"Yes,  quite,"  was  the  sober  answer.  "But  it  doesn't 
explain  the  lines  of  suffering  in  your  dear  face  to-night 
—  I'm  worried." 

"But  I'm  not  suffering!"  he  insisted  with  a  frown. 
"On  the  other  hand  I'm  cheerful  to-night.  I  saved  a 
kid's  life  with  a  flower.  His  father  used  to  work  for 
me  in  the  old  days.  They  asked  me  to  come  to  see 
him.  There  was  no  hope.  He  had  been  given  up  to 
die.  I  gave  him  a  fragrant  white  pink.  His  thin 
feverish  fingers  grasped  it  eagerly.  In  all  his  life  he 
had  never  held  a  flower  in  his  hand  before.  He  pressed 
it  to  his  lips,  his  soul  thrilled  at  its  sweet  odour,  and  the 
little  tired  spirit  came  staggering  back  from  the  mists 
of  Eternity  just  to  see  what  it  meant.  He  will  live. 
It  was  the  feather's  weight  that  tipped  the  beam  of 
life  the  right  way.  How  little  it  takes  sometimes  to 
give  life  and  happiness.  And  how  tragic  and  pitiful 
the  fact  that  so  many  of  us  can't  get  that  little  at  the 
right  moment!" 

The  joy  and  laughter  had  slowly  faded  from  his  face 
and  voice  as  he  spoke  until  the  last  words  had  uncon 
sciously  fallen  into  accents  of  despair. 

The  girl's  arms  slipped  around  his  neck  in  a  tighten 
ing  hold  and  she  pressed  her  cheek  against  his  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"Papa  dear,  it's  no  use  trying  to  deceive  me.     I've 


148  The  Root  of  Evil 

the  right  to  know  what  is  troubling  you.     I'm  not  a 
child.     You    must    tell    me." 

"Why,  it's  nothing  much,  dearie,"  he  answered 
gently.  "Fm  worried  a  little  about  money.  I've  a 
note  due  at  the  bank  and  they've  called  on  me  unexpect 
edly  to  meet  it.  But  I'll  manage  somehow.  Don't 
you  worry  about  it.  Everything  will  come  out  all 
right.  I  feel  like  a  millionaire  among  the  people  I've 
seen  to-day." 

"I'll  give  up  my  music,  go  to  work  and  help  you 
right  away. " 

"Sh!" 

The  father  placed  his  hand  gently  over  her  lips  and 
the  tears  sprang  into  his  eyes  in  spite  of  his  effort  to 
keep  them  back. 

"Don't  talk  sacrilege,  my  child.  Such  words  are 
blasphemy.  God  gave  me  a  man's  body  for  the  coarse 
work  of  bread-winning.  He  gave  you  the  supreme 
gift,  a  voice  that  throbs  with  eloquence,  a  power  that 
can  lift  and  inspire  the  world.  Only  when  you  are 
cultivating  that  gift  are  you  working.  Then  you 
are  doing  the  highest  and  finest  thing  of  which  you  are 
capable.  I  should  be  a  criminal  if  I  permitted  you  to 
do  less.  Never  say  such  a  thing  again  unless  you  would 
make  me  utterly  miserable. ' 

He  paused  and  took  her  cheeks  between  his  hands. 

"Promise  me,  dear  —  it's  the  one  wish  of  my  heart, 
the  one  thing  worth  working  and  struggling  for  — 
promise  me  that  you  will  never  stop  until  the  training 
of  your  voice  is  complete,  that  no  matter  what  happens 
you  will  obey  me  in  this.  It  is  my  one  command. 
You  will  obey  me?" 

There  was  dignity  and  compelling  power  now  in  the 
deep  tones  of  his  voice. 

The  girl  felt  instinctively  its  authority. 


Gathering  Clouds  149 

"Yes,  Papa,  I  promise,  if  it  will  make  you  happy. " 

"It's  the  only  thing  I  live  for.  I've  never  said  this 
to  you  before,  but  I  say  it  now  and  I  don't  want  you 
ever  to  forget  it.  Now  run  along  to  bed  and  never 
bother  your  pretty  head  again  about  such  things. 
I'll  find  food  and  a  home  for  my  baby  and  she  shall 
live  her  own  beautiful  life  to  the  last  reach  of  its  power. 
All  I  ask  is  that  you  do  your  level  best  with  the 
gift  of  God." 

"I'll  try,  Papa  dear,"  was  the  quiet  answer  as  she 
kissed  him  again  and  softly  left  the  room. 

Harriet  had  scarcely  reached  her  room  when  Adams, 
the  cashier  of  one  of  the  Allied  Banks,  who  owed  the 
doctor  for  three  months'  rent,  entered  the  library  with 
quick  nervous  tread. 

"I've  big  news,  sir,"  he  said  excitedly. 

The  doctor  looked  up  with  a  half  bantering  smile. 

"You  don't  mean  that  you've  got  the  whole  of  your 
three  months'  rent?  If  you  have,  break  it  to  me  gently, 
Adams,  or  I'll  faint." 

"Better  than  three  months'  rent,"  the  cashier 
whispered  nervously.  "I've  a  big  tip  on  the  stock 
market. " 

The  older  man  grunted  contemptuously. 

"Yes,  that's  what  ails  you,  I  know.  You've  been 
getting  them  for  some  time.  That's  why  you  owe  me 
for  your  rooms.  That's  why  there's  something  the 
matter  with  your  accounts." 

"I  swear  to  you,  Doctor,  my  accounts  are  clean.  My 
expenses  have  been  so  big  the  past  year,  with  the 
doctor's  bills  I've  had  to  pay,  I  simply  couldn't  live. 
The  price  of  everything  on  earth  has  gone  up  fifty  per 
cent,  except  my  wages.  I've  bought  a  few  stocks. 
I've  made  a  little  and  lost  a  little.  I've  got  the  chance 
now  I've  been  waiting  for.  I've  a  real  piece  of  informa- 


ISO  The  Root  of  Evil 

tion  from  the  big  insiders  who  are  going  to  make  the 
market  to-morrow. " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  and  looked  at  the  cashier 
with  humourous  pity.  The  man  was  trembling  from 
excitement  he  could  not  control. 

"So  you've  really  got  it  straight,  this  time?" 

"Beyond  the  shadow  of  doubt!"  he  cried  excitedly. 
"I  want  you  to  share  with  me  the  fortune  I'm  going 
to  make. " 

He  paused  and  breathed  heavily,  his  eyes  widening 
into  an  unnatural  stare,  as  he  continued: 

"My  God,  if  I  only  had  ten  thousand  dollars  to 
morrow  I  could  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  before 
night!" 

The  doctor  leaned  forward  with  deepening  inter 
est. 

"You  really  believe  such  rot?" 

"Believe  it,  man,  it's  as  certain  as  fate!  There 
can't  be  any  mistake  about  it.  At  twelve  o'clock  the 
tide  will  turn  and  they'll  begin  to  leap  upward  in  the 
wildest  market  that's  been  seen  in  a  generation.  Doc 
tor,  you've  been  so  good  to  me  and  I  can  trust  you 
implicitly.  You're  the  only  man  on  earth  I've  told. 
You  need  money.  If  you  can  raise  five  hundred  dollars 
in  cash  you  can  make  five  thousand  in  six  hours. " 

The  older  man's  eyes  flashed  with  sudden  excitement, 
which  he  suppressed  with  an  effort. 

"Adams,  you're  crazy,"  was  the  gruff  reply. 

"I've  got  it  straight,  I  tell  you!"  he  went  on  breath 
lessly.  "I  got  it  from  Bivens's private  secretary.  The 
little  weasel  has  made  millions  on  this  break  and  he  has 
been  selling  the  market  short  for  two  weeks.  To-mor 
row  morning  he  is  going  to  smash  it  for  the  last  time  and 
at  noon  throw  his  millions  on  the  bull  side.  The 
market  will  go  down  three  points  on  the  break  in  the 


Gathering  Clouds  151 

morning.  It  will  jump  five  points  in  ten  minutes 
when  it  turns  the  other  way.  There  are  stocks  on  the 
list  that  will  recover  ten  points  before  the  market 
closes." 

"Bivens  is  going  to  do  this?"  the  older  man  inter 
rupted. 

"Yes.     I  got  it  from  the  man  who  took  his  order." 

"Then  it's  a  trick.  It's  a  lie.  Take  my  advice  and 
do  just  the  opposite  from  what  you  understand.  Bivens 
will  sell  out  his  partners  in  the  deal." 

"Man,  he  can't  sell  out!"  the  cashier  insisted.  "It's 
his  own  deal.  He's  in  it  for  all  he's  worth!" 

The  doctor  rose  with  sudden  excitement. 

"Adams,  this  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  I've  ever 
been  tempted  to  buy  stocks." 

"You  can't  lose,   sir." 

"But  I'm  in  desperate  need  of  money.  I've  a  note 
for  three  thousand  due.  I've  two  thousand  dollars 
set  aside  to  finish  my  little  girl's  musical  studies. 
I've  got  to  meet  that  note  somehow  and  I've  got  to 
have  the  money  for  her.  It  looks  like  a  chance.  I'll 
go  in  and  watch  the  market  to-morrow." 

"If  it  don't  act  exactly  as  I  say  —  don't  touch  it. 
It  if  does,  go  in  for  all  you're  worth.  If  stocks  start 
down  as  I  say  they  will,  sell  short,  cover  at  noon,  and 
then  buy  for  the  rise.  Don't  listen  to  fools,  just  buy, 
buy,  buy!  You  can  sell  before  the  market  closes  and 
make  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

"I'll  drop  into  a  broker's  office  and  watch  the  market 
open  any  way,  Adams. " 

The  doctor  seized  his  hand  cordially. 

"And  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  though tfulness 
in  coming  to  me." 

"I  wish  I  could  do  more,  sir,"  the  cashier  said,  with 
deep  feeling.  "I'll  never  forget  your  kindness  to  me  the 


1 52  The  Root  of  Evil 

past  three  months.     When  the  sun  shines  again,  you'll 
hear    from    me." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  my  boy.  Some  men  invest  in 
stocks,  some  in  bonds,  some  in  real  estate.  My  best 
investments  have  always  been  in  the  good  turns  I've 
done  my  neighbours.  Good  night. " 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  STORM  BREAKS 

The  morning  came  in  a  mist  of  dull  gray  clouds  that 
clung  in  rings  about  the  street  lamps  like  the  damp 
fog  of  a  typical  February  thaw,  yet  it  was  the  last  day 
of  October.  Such  weather  was  uncanny.  It  added 
to  the  strange  feeling  of  impending  calamity  which 
had  been  hanging  over  the  business  world  during  the 
summer  and  had  broken  at  last  into  the  fierce  storms  of 
disaster  of  the  past  two  weeks.  Men  who  usually 
rose  at  nine  o'clock  were  up  at  dawn.  Some  of  them 
hadn't  slept  at  all. 

The  more  optimistic  traders  on  the  Stock  Exchange 
expected  to-day  a  change  in  the  market.  Stocks  had 
declined  for  two  weeks  with  appalling  swiftness  and 
fatality.  Every  hour  had  marked  the  ruin  of  men 
hitherto  bulwarks  of  solidity.  Experienced  men  reason 
ed  and  reasoned  from  experience  that  there  must  be  a 
turn  somewhere.  The  bottom  surely  had  been  reached. 
The  time  for  a  rally  had  come.  Nine  men  out  of 
every  ten  in  the  market  at  its  close  the  night  before 
expected  the  rally  to  begin  at  the  stroke  of  the  gong 
the  next  morning.  The  men  who  bought  stocks  in  the 
closing  hour  were  sure  of  this. 

They  rose  to  curse  the  weather.  For  the  weather 
always  affects  speculation.  Wall  Street  is  superstitious. 
The  proud  intellect  that  struts  the  floor  of  the  Ex 
change  and  scorns  the  powers  of  his  feebler  fellow-men 
carries  secretly  a  horse  chestnut  in  his  pocket  for  luck. 

153 


154  The  Root  of  Evil 

Without  an  exception  all  these  great  men  believe  in 
signs  and  wonders,  in  witches,  palmists,  spells  and 
hoodoos. 

Weather  always  gets  on  their  nerves.  Half  the 
fluctuations  of  stocks  under  normal  conditions  of  trade 
are  purely  the  results  of  the  mental  states  of  the  men  who 
buy  and  sell. 

The  doctor  rose  early  with  a  new  hope  filling  his 
heart  which  no  cloud  could  obscure.  He  watched 
Harriet  pour  his  coffee  at  breakfast  with  his  old-time 
smile  of  good  cheer  playing  about  his  fine  mouth. 

Stuart  was  sleeping  late.  He  was  up  until  one  o'clock 
writing  a  reply  to  a  peculiarly  venomous  attack  on  his 
integrity  which  a  morning  paper  had  printed.  The 
writer  had  boldly  accused  him  of  being  the  hired  tool 
of  the  group  of  financial  cut-throats  who  were  coining 
millions  out  of  the  ruin  of  others  in  the  destruction  of 
public  faith. 

His  reply  was  simple  and  his  concluding  paragraph 
was  unanswerable,  except  by  an  epithet. 

"My  business  is  the  enforcement  of  justice.  I  am 
the  servant  of  the  people.  If  Wall  Street  can  not 
stand  the  enforcement  of  law,  so  much  the  worse  for 
the  Street.  It's  no  affair  of  mine.  I  didn't  make  the 
laws  of  the  State  any  more  than  I  made  the  law  of 
gravitation.  Nor  did  I  write  the  Ten  Commandments, 
but  I  have  an  abiding  faith  that  they  will  stand  when 
the  last  stone  in  the  Stock  Exchange  building  shall 
have  crumbled  into  dust.  I  refuse  to  believe  that  the 
only  way  to  save  Wall  Street  is  by  a  sworn  officer  of 
the  law  compounding  a  felony." 

The  doctor  hurried  down  town  to  the  office  of  a 
friend  on  Pine  Street,  an  old-fashioned  banker  and  brok 
er  whose  name  had  always  stood  for  honesty  and  fair 
dealing  and  conservative  business.  It  was  half  an 


The  Storm  Breaks  155 

hour  before  the  Stock  Exchange  opened  but  the  dingy 
little  office  was  packed  with  an  excited  crowd  of  custom 
ers.  They  all  talked  in  low  tones  as  if  fearing  the 
spirits  of  the  air  triat  hovered  near.  An  eager  group 
leaned  over  the  bulletin  from  the  London  market. 
London  was  up  half  a  point.  The  credulous  were 
pleased.  It  was  a  good  omen.  The  pessimists  scoffed. 

" Rigged  from  New  York!"  sneered  a  fat  German  the 
office  boy  had  nicknamed  the  "  Judge. " 

The  doctor  was  struck  with  the  curiously  mottled 
crowd  that  jostled  one  another,  waiting  for  the  first 
cry  of  the  opening  quotations.  Every  walk  and  pro 
fession  of  life  had  its  representative  there  —  merchants, 
lawyers,  doctors,  clerks,  clergymen,  barbers,  boot 
blacks,  retired  capitalists  and  capitalists  about  to  retire 
permanently. 

The  saddest  group  of  all  was  in  the  adjoining  room 
reserved  for  ladies.  An  opening  through  the  partition 
wall  allowed  them  to  see  the  quotations  as  they  were 
placed  on  the  board  around  which  the  throng  of  jostling, 
smoking,  perspiring  men  moved  and  stood.  Most  of 
these  pale  excited  women  with  their  hats  awry  and  their 
hair  disordered  were  the  wives  of  solid  business  and  pro 
fessional  men  who  wouldn't  allow  their  husbands  to 
know  of  their  little  venture  into  stocks  for  the  world. 
They  peeped  through  the  opening  occasionally  and 
turned  their  backs  quickly  to  avoid  the  gaze  of  the  men. 

But  the  most  ominous  figures  were  two  or  three 
"vultures"  who  stood  grim  and  silent  on  the  outer 
fringe  of  the  moving  crowd.  Only  one  or  two  of  the 
older  ones  recognized  them. 

The  "Judge"  saw  them  first. 

"Ach,  Gott,  look  at  dem!"  he  exclaimed.  "They 
never  come  except  for  carrion;  they've  scented  the 
dead.  It's  all  over  with  us,  poys!' 


156  The  Root  of  Evil 

One  of  the  most  curious  things  in  the  history  of  Wall 
Street  is  the  appearance  of  these  vultures  in  a  panic. 
They  scent  the  final  death-struggle  with  unerring 
accuracy.  They  never  buy  stocks  except  in  those  awful 
moments  of  ruin.  They  hold  them  grimly  until  the 
next  tidal-wave  of  prosperity,  sell  out  at  the  top,  and 
wait  patiently  for  the  next  killing.  They  are  the  only 
outsiders  who  ever  make  a  dollar  in  Wall  Street. 

The  doctor  followed  old  Dugro,  the  head  of  the  firm, 
into  his  private  office  and  asked  his  advice.  He  got 
it  —  sharp,  short  and  to  the  point. 

"Go  home,  Doctor,  and  stay  there.  This  market  is 
no  place  for  an  amateur.  It's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  the 
wolf  from  my  door  in  these  days." 

"But  I've  received  some  important  information." 

"Keep  it  dark,"  old  Dugro  scowled.  Don't  tell 
it  to  your  worst  enemy.  If  you've  got  a  dollar,  nail  it 
up  and  sleep  on  the  box. 

"But  I've  some  information  I  think  I'm  going  to  act 
on  and  I  want  to  open  a  small  account  with  you." 

"All  right.  I've  warned  you,"  was  the  grim  answer. 
"I  wish  you  good  luck." 

The  doctor  drew  his  check  for  two  thousand  dollars 
and  smilingly  took  his  place  among  the  crowd  before  the 
board.  He  was  never  surer  of  anything  in  his  life  than 
he  was  of  Adam's  sincerity.  He  prided  himself  on  the 
fact  that  he  was  a  judge  of  character.  He  was  sure  the 
cashier  was  wrong  in  his  accounts;  he  was  equally  sure 
that  the  information  he  had  received  from  Bivens's 
private  secretary  was  accurate,  provided,  of  course,  the 
little  weasel  carried  out  the  program  he  had  mapped  out. 

The  ticker  would  tell  the  story  in  the  first  hour.  If 
stocks  should  sell  off  three  points  before  noon,  he  would 
know.  He  determined  to  put  this  to  the  test  first.  He 
would  not  sell  the  market  short.  He  would  be  content 


The  Storm  Breaks  157 

with  the  big  jump  the  market  would  make  upward  when 
it  started. 

The  ticker  began  its  sharp  metallic  click. 

The  crowd  stirred  as  if  the  electric  shock  had  swept 
every  nerve.  A  moment  of  breathless  silence  and  the 
board  boy  leaning  over  the  ticker  shouted: 

"Atch  —  92^!" 

A  groan,  low,  half -stifled,  half -articulate  came  from 
the  room  and  then  a  moment  of  silence  followed. 

"There,  Gott,"  muttered  the  " Judge."  "I  knew 
London  was  rigged  —  I  told  you  so!" 

In  quick,  sharp,  startling  tones  the  man  at  the  ticker 
called  out  the  quotations  as  the  market  rapidly  sank. 

For  half  an  hour  the  downward  movement  never 
paused  for  a  moment.  The  silence  of  the  crowded  room 
became  more  and  more  suffocating.  Men  stood  in 
their  tracks  with  staring  eyes  and  dry  lips  as  they  watch 
ed  the  last  hope  of  a  morning  rally  fade  into  despair. 

The  doctor's  breath  came  quicker  and  his  eyes  began 
to  sparkle  intense  excitement. 

Now  and  then  old  Dugro's  stolid  face  appeared  at 
the  door  and  summoned  another  man  to  his  inner  office 
—  "the  chamber  of  horrors"  —where  the  lambs 
are  sheared.  The  story  was  always  the  same.  The 
customer  squirmed  and  asked  for  a  little  more  time  to 
watch  the  market.  The  old  man  was  adamant. 

"I've  got  to  have  more  money  to  margin  your  stock 
or  I'll  sell  it  in  five  minutes.  This  firm  is  sound  as  a 
dollar  and  it's  going  to  stay  sound  as  long  as  I'm  at 
the  helm.  If  I  carry  weak  accounts  I  imperil  the 
money  of  every  man  who  has  put  his  faith  in  my  bank. " 

If  the  squirming  victim  had  more  money  he  always 
put  it  up.  If  he  had  drawn  his  last  dollar  he  just  wiped 
the  cold  sweat  from  his  brow  and  gasped: 

"You'll  have  to  sell  out." 


158  The  Root  of  Evil 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  old  man's  hand  was  on  the  tele 
phone  and  his  broker  on  the  floor  of  the  Exchange  was 
executing  the  order. 

As  the  noon  hour  drew  near  the  doctor's  heart  was 
beating  like  a  sledge  hammer.  Bivens's  programme  had 
been  carried  out  to  the  letter.  Stocks  had  declined  for 
the  first  hour  a  point,  and  in  the  second  hour  suddenly 
smashed  down  two  more  points  amid  the  wildest 
excitement  on  the  Exchange. 

There  was  a  momentary  lull  and  the  market  hesi 
tated.  For  ten  minutes  the  sales  dragged  with  only 
fractional  changes  —  first  up,  then  down. 

The  moment  to  buy  had  come.  The  doctor  was  sure 
of  it.  Stocks  had  touched  bottom.  The  big  bear 
pool  would  turn  bull  in  a  moment  and  the  whole  market 
would  rise  by  leaps  and  bounds. 

He  called  old  Dugro. 

"Buy  for  me  now,  Amalgamated  Copper,  the  market 
leader,  for  all  I'm  worth!" 

The  broker  glared  at  him. 

"Buy!  Buy  in  this  market?     Man,  are  you  mad?" 

"I  said  buy!"  was  the  firm  answer.  "What's  the 
limit?" 

"Not  a  share  without  a  stop  loss  order  under  it." 

"Well,  with  the  stop?" 

"I'll  buy  you  400  shares  on  a  four-point  stop." 

"And  when  it  goes  up  five  points?"  the  doctor 
asked  eagerly. 

"I'll  double  your  purchase  and  raise  your  stop,  and 
every  five  points  up  I'll  keep  on  until  you  are  a  million 
aire!" 

The  old  broker  smiled  contemptuously,  but  it  was 
all  lost  on  the  doctor. 

"Do   it    quick." 

The  order  was  scarcely  given  before  it  was  executed. 


The  Storm  Breaks  .    159 

Dugro  handed  the  memorandum  to  Woodman  with 
a  grunt. 

"It  don't  take  long  to  get  'em  to-day!" 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  a  hoarse 
cry  rose  from  the  crowd  hanging  over  the  ticker. 

Copper  had  leaped  upward  a  whole  point  between 
sales.  A  wild  cheer  swept  the  room.  For  ten  minutes 
every  stock  on  the  list  responded  and  began  to  climb. 

The  doctor's  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  Men 
began  to  talk  and  laugh  and  feel  human  for  the  first 
moment  in  two  weeks. 

Dugro  grasped  the  doctor's  hand  and  his  deep  voice 
rang  above  the  roar: 

" You're  a  mascot!  You've  broken  the  spell!  For 
God's  sake  stay  with  us!" 

Suddenly  another  cry  came  from  the  crowd  at  the 
ticker.  The  boy  at  the  board  sprang  to  the  instrument 
with  a  single  bound,  his  eyes  blazing  with  excitement. 
His  cry  pierced  every  ear  in  the  room  with  horror. 

uThe  hell  you  say!     Down  a  whole  point!     No!" 

There  was  a  moment's  hush,  every  breath  was  held. 
Only  the  sharp  click  of  the  ticker  broke  the  stillness. 

"It  was  one  point,"  groaned  the  Judge,  now, 
Gott,  it's  two  — now  it's  three!" 

The  last  words  ended  in  a  scream.  Hell  had  broken 
loose  at  last. 

The  panic  had  come! 

In  ten  minutes  stocks  tumbled  five  points  and  the 
doctor's  last  dollar  was  swept  into  space  while  the 
whole  market  plunged  down,  down,  down  into  the 
abyss  of  ruin  and  despair. 

Men  no  longer  tried  to  conceal  their  emotion.  Some 
wept,  some  cursed,  some  laughed;  but  the  most  pitiful 
sight  of  all  was  the  man  who  could  do  neither,  the  man 
with  white  lips  and  the  strange  hunted  expression  in  his 


160  The  Root  of  Evil 

eyes  who  was  looking  Death  in  the  face  for  the  first 
time. 

A  full  quarter  of  an  hour  of  the  panic  had  spent 
itself  before  the  dazed  crowds  in  the  broker's  offices 
read  the  startling  news  that  caused  the  big  break.  The 
ticker  shrieked  its  message  above  the  storm's  din  like 
a  little  laughing  demon: 

"The  Van  Dam  Trust  Company  Has  Closed 
Its  Doors  and  Asked  for  the  Appointment  of  a 
Receiver!  " 

"Impossible!" 

" A  fake!" 

" Hell  —  it's  a  joke!" 

From  all  who  read  it  at  first  came  these  muttered 
exclamations.  It  was  beyond  belief. 

The  "  Judge"  was  particularly  emphatic. 

"Dot's  a  lie,  chentlemens!  Take  my  vord  for  it! 
Dey  haf  ninety  millions  on  deposit. " 

It  took  the  second  bulletin  with  particulars  to  con 
vince  them.  Bivens  had  not  kept  his  solemn  pledge. 
The  great  bank  had  stood  the  run  for  two  hours  and 
closed  its  doors.  And  the  work  of  destruction  had  just 
begun. 

At  three  o'clock,  the  doctor  walked  out  of  Dugro's 
office  without  a  dollar.  It  was  utterly  impossible  for 
a  man  of  his  temperament  to  realize  it.  The  crash 
had  come  so  suddenly,  its  work  was  so  complete  and 
overwhelming  it  seemed  a  sort  of  foolish  prank  Fate 
had  played  on  him. 

He  walked  home  in  a  state  of  strange  excitement. 
He  had  seen  many  sights  in  his  eventful  life  among  the 
people  of  New  York;  never  had  he  passed  through  a 
scene  so  weird,  so  horrible,  so  haunting  as  the  five  hours 


The  Storm  Breaks  161 

he  had  just  spent  among  those  men  and  women  whom 
the  struggle  for  money  had  transformed  into  raving, 
jibbering,  snivelling  maniacs.  It  was  too  absurd  to 
be  real.  His  own  loss  was  appalling  but  at  least  he 
thanked  God  he  was  not  mad.  He  yet  had  two  good 
hands  and  legs.  He  could  see,  hear,  smell,  taste  and 
feel,  and  he  had  a  soul  with  five  more  senses  still  turned 
upward  toward  the  infinite  and  eternal  by  which  he 
could  see  the  invisible  and  hear  the  inaudible.  He 
felt  almost  happy  by  contrast  with  the  fools  he  had 
left  shuffling  over  the  floor  of  Dugro's  office. 

His  own  sense  of  loss  was  merely  a  blur.  The  reve 
lation  he  had  just  had  of  the  mad  lust  for  money  which 
had  begun  to  possess  all  classes  was  yet  so  fresh  and 
startling  he  could  form  no  adequate  conception  of  his 
own  position. 

It  was  not  until  he  entered  his  own  door,  and  paused 
at  the  sound  of  Harriet's  voice,  that  he  began  to  realize 
the  enormity  of  the  tragedy  that  had  befallen  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  THE  KING'S  COMMAND 

Bivens's  plan  would  have  gone  through  without  a 
hitch  but  for  one  thing.  He  had  overlooked  the  fact 
that  the  Kingdom  of  Mammon  in  America  has  a 
king  and  that  the  present  ruler  is  very  much  alive. 
This  king  has  never  been  officially  crowned  and  his 
laws  are  unwritten,  but  his  rule  is  none  the  less  real, 
and  he  is  by  far  the  most  potent  monarch  Wall  Street 
has  ever  known.  A  man  of  few  words,  of  iron  will, 
of  fiery  temper,  of  keen  intellect,  proud,  ambitious, 
resourceful,  bold,  successful,  a  giant  in  physique,  and 
a  giant  in  personality.  He  moves  among  men  with  the 
conscious  tread  of  royalty,  thinks  big  thoughts  and 
does  big  deeds  as  quietly  and  effectively  as  small 
men  do  small  ones,  and  then  moves  on  to  greater  tasks. 

It  happens  that  his  majesty  is  an  old  time  Wall 
Street  banker  with  inherited  traditions  about  banks  and 
the  way  their  funds  should  be  handled.  He  had  long 
held  a  pet  aversion.  The  Van  Dam  Trust  Company 
had  become  an  offense  to  his  nostrils. 

His  own  bank,  hitherto  the  most  powerful  in  America, 
is  a  private  concern  which  bears  the  royal  name.  It 
had  long  been  the  acknowledged  seat  of  the  Empire  of 
Mammon  and  within  its  unpretentious  walls  the  king 
has  held  his  court  for  years,  extending  his  sceptre  of 
gold  in  gracious  favour  to  whom  he  likes,  refusing  ad 
mission  to  his  presence  for  those  who  might  offend 
his  fancy. 

162 


At  the  King's  Command  163 

The  Van  Dam  Trust  Company  had  built  a  huge 
palace  far  up  town  and  its  president  had  attempted 
to  set  up  a  court  of  his  own.  He  had  gathered  about 
him  a  following,  among  them  an  ex-president  of  the 
United  States.  Gold  had  poured  into  the  treasury  of 
the  great  marble  palace  in  a  constant  stream  until 
its  deposits  had  reached  the  unprecedented  sum  of 
$90,000,000,  a  sum  greater  than  the  royal  bank  itself 
could  boast. 

When  the  king  heard  the  first  rumour  of  the  fact  that 
the  Van  Dam  Trust  was  backing  the  schemes  of  the 
Allied  Bankers  in  their  sensational  raid  on  the  market 
his  big  nostrils  suddenly  dilated. 

At  last  he  had  them  just  where  he  wanted  them. 
He  signed  the  death  warrant  of  the  bank  and  handed  it 
to  his  executioner  without  a  word  of  comment.  And 
then  a  most  curious  thing  happened.  The  king  sum 
moned  to  his  presence  a  little  dark  swarthy  man. 

When  Bivens  received  this  order  to  appear  at  court 
he  was  dumfounded.  He  had  long  worshipped  and 
feared  the  king  with  due  reverence  and  always  spoke 
his  name  with  awe.  To  be  actually  called  into  his 
august  presence  in  such  a  crisis  was  an  undreamed-of 
honour. 

He  was  sure  that  his  majesty  had  heard  of  his  gener 
ous  offer  to  help  the  Van  Dam  Trust  in  its  hour  of 
trouble  and  meant  to  reward  him  with  promotion  to 
high  rank  in  the  Empire. 

He  hastened  into  the  royal  presence  with  beating 
heart. 

A  court  onicial  conducted  him  into  the  king's  private 
room  where  the  ruler  sat  alone,  quietly  smoking. 

The  sovereign  glanced  up  with  quick  energy. 

"Mr.  Bivens,  I  believe?" 

The  little  man  bowed  low. 


1 64  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  hear  that  you  are  about  to  aid  the  Van  Dam  Trust 
with  four  millions  in  cash?" 

Bivens  smiled  with  pride. 

"My  secretary  will  deliver  the  money  to  the  bank 
within  an  hour. " 

The  king  suddenly  wheeled  in  his  big  arm  chair, 
raised  his  eyebrows  and  fixed  the  little  man  with  a 
stare  that  froze  the  blood  in  his  veins.  When  he  spoke 
at  length  his  tones  were  smooth  as  velvet. 

"If  I  may  give  you  a  suggestion,  Mr.  Bivens,  I  would 
venture  to  say  that  the  Van  Dam  Trust  Company  is 
beyond  aid.  The  larger  interests  of  the  nation  require 
the  elimination  of  this  institution  and  its  associates. 

"I  have  heard  good  reports  of  you  and  I  wish  to 
save  you  from  the  disaster  about  to  befall  the  gentle 
men  who  have  been  conducting  the  present  campaign 
in  Wall  Street.  If  your  secretary  will  report  to  me  at 
once  with  the  four  millions  you  have  set  aside  for  the 
Van  Dam  Company  I  shall  be  pleased  to  place  your 
name  on  my  executive  council  in  the  big  movement  we 
begin  to-day.  The  other  gentlemen  whom  I  have 
thus  honoured  are  now  waiting  for  me  in  the  adjoining 
room.  They  represent  a  banking  power  that  is  resist 
less  at  the  present  moment. 

"When  the  Van  Dam  Trust  closes  its  doors  to-day,  a 
temporary  panic  will  follow.  We  will  give  the  gentle 
men  who  started  this  excitement  a  taste  of  their  own 
medicine,  render  a  service  to  the  nation,  and,  inciden 
tally  of  course,  earn  an  honest  dollar  or  two  for  our 
selves.  I  trust  I  have  your  hearty  support  in  this 
programme?" 

Bivens  again  bowed  low. 

"My  hearty  support  and  my  profoundest  gratitude!" 

"I'll  expect  your  secretary  with  your  check  for  four 
millions  within  thirty  minutes. " 


At  the  King's  Command  165 

The  king  waved  a  friendly  gesture  of  dismissal  and 
the  little  dark  figure  tremblingly  withdrew. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  reached  the  seclusion  of  his 
own  office  that  the  magnitude  of  the  crisis  through  which 
he  had  passed  fully  dawned  on  Bivens.  One  of  the 
dreams  of  his  life  had  been  to  touch  elbows  with  this 
mighty  ruler  at  whose  name  he  had  often  trembled. 
To-day  he  had  joined  the  magic  circle  of  those  about 
the  throne.  The  place  had  been  bought  at  a  fearful 
price.  But  the  end  would  justify  the  means.  No' 
one  knew  with  clearer  perception  than  he  what  the  king 
meant  by  his  "  suggestions. "  They  were  orders.  He 
had  been  ordered  to  stab  his  associates. 

At  first  he  had  raged  in  silent  fury,  but  as  the  king 
continued  his  wonderful  speech  and  revealed  his  generous 
intentions,  his  anger  had  melted  into  glowing  gratitude. 

" After  all,  business  means  war!"  he  exclaimed,  "a 
war  in  which  dog  eat  dog  and  devil  take  the  hindmost 
becomes  sooner  or  later  the  supreme  law. " 

It  hurt  to  break  his  word  —  the  pledge  he  had  made 
the  president  of  the  Van  Dam  Company  —  but  it  was 
unavoidable.  Their  death  warrant  had  already  been 
signed.  His  money  would  only  be  sunk  in  the  bottom 
less  pit  the  king  had  dug  beneath  them.  He  felt  him 
self  for  the  moment  in  the  grip  of  forces  beyond  human 
control,  blind,  inevitable,  overwhelming.  The  only 
thing  for  a  sane  man  to  do  was  to  ride  the  storm  and 
take  care  of  himself.  He  had  found  a  place  of  safety. 
And  such  a  place  —  at  the  right  hand  of  the  king  him 
self. 

He  had  dreamed  of  making  a  paltry  five  millions 
when  the  raid  on  the  market  had  ended.  Now  his 
very  soul  stood  blinded  by  the  splendour  of  the  vision 
before  him.  Beyond  a  doubt  in  the  holocaust  which 
would  follow  the  day's  work  he  would  more  than  treble 


1 66  The  Root  of  Evil 

his  entire  fortune,  perhaps  multiply  it  by  four.  He 
could  see  it  all  before  it  happened.  His  slender  hands 
trembled  as  he  fumbled  his  beard  and  his  bead  eyes 
became  two  scintillating  points  of  light.  The  thirst 
for  gold  was  now  a  raging  fever  and  his  blood  molten 
fire.  The  lust  for  gain  had  ceased  to  be  a  human  passion 
—  it  was  the  hunger  of  a  beast. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  gave  the  cruel 
orders  that  sent  his  associates  hurling  over  the  preci 
pice.  As  the  day  progressed  he  stood  with  one  hand 
on  the  tape  of  his  private  ticker  and  the  other  holding 
the  receiver  of  the  telephone  which  connected  him  with 
the  floor  of  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  received  no  word 
from  friend  or  foe  without.  Only  the  king's  messenger 
could  reach  him.  He  paused  not  a  moment  for  food  or 
drink,  and  at  three  o'clock  when  the  market  closed  he 
stood  with  a  hundred  yards  of  tape  from  the  ticker 
coiled  serpent  like  about  his  legs,  the  wreck  of  empires 
of  wealth  beneath  his  feet,  his  heart  still  beating  a  single 
wild  cry  —  "more,  more,  more!" 

What  a  day!  In  all  the  annals  of  man's  inhumanity 
to  his  fellow-man  never  were  there  more  opportunities 
for  generosity,  for  kindly  deeds  and  noble  acts  of  kingly 
heroism.  Never  were  so  few  recorded. 

Martial  war  at  least  has  for  its  justification  the  flag 
and  the  life  of  a  nation  for  which  it  stands  the  gleaming 
symbol  in  the  sky,  and  in  real  war  they  do  not  kill  the 
wounded  or  fire  on  women  and  children.  Even  the 
Turk  does  not  fire  on  a  hospital.  But  in  this  war  which 
maniacs  waged  for  gold,  they  fired  on  women  and  chil 
dren  without  mercy  and  when  night  had  fallen  they 
searched  the  field,  dragged  out  and  stabbed  to  death 
the  wounded! 

When  the  president  of  the  Van  Dam  Trust  Company 
failed  to  receive  the  promised  millions  from  Bivens 


, 


At  the  King's  Command  167 

he  called  his  telephone  and  receiving  no  answer  sprang 
into  his  automobile  and  dashed  down  town  to  the  little 
main  office. 

When  the  clerk  at  the  door  informed  him  that  Mr. 
Bivens  could  not  seen  by  by  anyone,  he  turned  quickly 
on  his  heel,  drove  back  to  the  palatial  house  of  his  bank, 
smiled  sadly  at  the  mob  in  front  of  its  huge  pillars, 
ordered  its  bronze  doors  closed,  walked  around  the  cor 
ner  to  his  home,  locked  himself  in  his  room  and  blew 
his  brains  out. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    RAY    OF    SUNLIGHT 

For  a  week  the  panic  held  the  financial  world  in  the 
grip  of  death.  A  dozen  banks  had  closed  their  doors 
and  a  score  of  men  who  had  long  boasted  their  courage 
among  men  had  died  the  death  of  cowards  when  put 
to  the  test. 

One  of  the  most  curious  results  of  the  panic  was  the 
revulsion  of  popular  feeling  against  the  daring  and  honest 
young  officer  of  the  law  who  had  rendered  the  greatest 
service  to  the  people  wrought  by  any  public  servant 
in  a  generation. 

His  enemies  saw  their  opportunity.  When  the  panic 
was  at  its  worst  they  opened  their  artillery  of  slander 
and  falsehood.  The  people  who  yesterday  had  shouted 
his  praises  for  the  fearless  work  in  their  behalf  joined 
his  enemies  and  vied  with  each  other  now  in  reviling 
him.  He  was  hailed  as  the  arch  traitor  of  the  people, 
the  man  who  had  used  his  high  office  to  produce  a  panic 
and  carve  a  fortune  out  of  the  ruin  of  millions  whose 
deposits  were  tied  up  in  banks  that  might  never  again 
open  their  doors. 

Stuart,  stung  to  desperation  by  their  infamous  charges, 
attempted  at  first  to  repel  them.  He  stopped  at  last 
in  disgust  and  maintained  afterward  a  dignified  silence. 

From  the  first  day  of  the  run  Bivens  had  laughed  in 
the  face  of  the  crowd  that  besieged  the  door  of  his  big 
Broadway  bank.  He  stood  on  top  of  the  granite  steps 
and  shouted  in  their  faces: 

1 68 


A  Ray  of  Sunlight  169 

"Come  on,  you  dirty  cowards!  I've  got  your  money 
inside  waiting  for  you,  every  dollar  of  it,  one  hundred 
cents  on  the  dollar!" 

The  crowd  made  no  reply.  They  merely  moved  up 
in  line  in  stolid  silence  a  little  closer  to  the  door.  Each 
day  this  line  had  grown  longer.  Bivens  was  not  worry 
ing.  The  king  had  spoken.  The  people  outside  did 
the  worrying.  They  had  lost  faith  in  everything  and 
every  man.  What  they  wanted  was  cash.  They 
camped  on  the  doorstep  at  night  and  in  grim  silence 
held  their  place  in  line. 

The  folly  of  these  people  in  their  insane  efforts 
to  wreck  Bivens's  bank  was  making  impossible  a  return 
to  normal  business. 

Stuart  determined  to  face  this  crowd  and  have  it  out 
with  them.  He  believed  that  a  bold  appeal  to  their 
reason  would  silence  his  critics  and  allay  their  insane 
fears. 

He  told  Bivens  of  his  purpose  over  the  telephone, 
and  the  financier  protested  vigorously: 

"Don't  do  it,  Jim,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  pleaded.  "It 
will  be  a  waste  of  breath.  Besides,  you  risk  your 
life." 

"I'll  be  there  when  the  bank  opens  at  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

Stuart  left  his  office  at  three  and  hurried  to  his  room. 
He  wished  to  be  alone  and  collect  the  vague  ideas  of 
passionate  appeal  which  he  felt  rioting  through  his 
mind.  He  stood  by  his  window  looking  across  the 
square.  The  fall  winds  had  strewn  the  grass  with  dead 
leaves  and  the  half-bare  limbs  swayed  desolately.  The 
big  houses  on  the  north  side,  were  unusually  quiet. 
He  could  see  crepe  fluttering  from  two  doors.  The 
widow  of  the  dead  president  of  a  suspended  bank 
lived  in  one  of  them;  in  the  other  the  widow  of  a  great 


170  The  Root  of  Evil 

man  who  was  found  dead  in  his  office  the  second  day 
of  the  panic.  He  had  been  buried  yesterday. 

A  feeling  of  stupid  depression  crept  over  his  senses, 
and  held  them  in  its  deadly  embrace.  He  couldn't 
think.  He  gave  up  the  effort  and  asked  Harriet  to  go 
with  him  for  a  ramble  over  the  hills,  up  the  Hudson. 
They  took  the  subway  to  the  end  of  the  line,  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  hills  overlooking  the  river,  sat  down 
in  the  woods  on  a  fallen  tree  and  watched  the  sun  slowly 
sink  in  scarlet  glory  behind  the  Palisades. 

Neither  had  spoken  for  several  minutes.  He  loved 
these  rambles  with  his  slender  golden-haired  little  pal, 
because  it  wasn't  necessary  to  talk.  She  had  devel 
oped  the  rarest  of  all  gifts  among  womankind,  a  genius 
for  silence.  He  wondered  at  it,  too,  for  she  was  such  a 
little  chatterbox  as  a  kid. 

A  squirrel  climbed  down  from  a  tree  nearby  where  he 
was  storing  his  winter  food,  paused,  and  looked  up  in 
surprise  at  his  unexpected  visitors.  Stuart  smiled  and 
pressed  Harriet's  hand,  nodding  toward  the  squirrel. 
She  smiled  an  answer  in  silence.  The  faintest  little 
flush  tinged  the  smooth  white  skin  of  her  neck  at  the 
touch  of  his  hand,  but  he  never  noticed  it. 

A  ruffled  grouse  suddenly  sprang  on  the  end  of  the 
log,  cocked  his  head  in  surprise  and  stood  trembling 
with  fear,  uncertain  whether  the  intruders  in  his  domain 
were  friend  or  foe. 

Harriet  saw  him  first,  gently  pressed  Stuart's  hand 
and  whispered: 

"Look,  Jim." 

As  Stuart  turned  his  head,  the  bird  rose  with  a  roar 
that  brought  a  cry  of  terror  to  the  girl's  lips.  Involun 
tarily  she  gripped  his  hand  and  nestled  closer. 

" Scared  you  out  of  a  year's  growth,  didn't  he?" 

"He  certainly  did." 


A  Ray  of  Sunlight  171 

"What  a  flood  of  memories  the  whir  of  those  wings 
brings  back  to  my  tired  soul,"  Stuart  dreamily  cried; 
"of  woods  and  fields  and  hills  and  valleys  of  the  South, 
where  men  and  women  yet  live  a  sane  human  life  I 
Yd  begun  to  forget  there  were  any  hills  and  fields." 

"  I  wish  I  lived  down  South,  Jim ! " 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  it's  just  an  idea  of  mine.  I  suppose 
I  get  it  from  hearing  you  tell  about  their  old-fashioned 
ways,  their  neighbourly  habits  and  the  sweet  home  life." 

The  man  was  silent.  The  deep  soft  note  of  a 
mallard  drake  far  above  the  treetops  caused  him  to 
look  up. 

He  seized  Harriet's  arm. 

"Watch  now,  little  pal  —  the  river  —  you'll  see  a 
flock  of  ducks  swing  into  that  open  space  under  the 
sun!" 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  when  the  ducks  circled  the 
broad  sweep  of  the  river  in  a  graceful  curve,  their  wings 
flashing  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  slowly  one 
at  a  time  dropped  their  feet  and  pitched  in  the  little 
smooth  bay  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  The  sun  was  just 
sinking  behind  the  tree  tops  on  the  Palisades,  lighting 
the  calm  mirror-like  surface  of  the  water  with  every 
colour  of  the  rainbow. 

"Now,  look  behind  you,  dear!"  Stuart  exclaimed. 

"Why,  it's  the  moon  just  rising,  isn't  it?  I  never 
saw  the  moon  rising  through  the  treetops  before.  It's 
glorious,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  it's  full  moon  to-night.  See  how  high  the  tide 
is  on  the  river  banks.  It's  just  high  water  now  —  the 
highest,  fullest  tide  of  the  month.  It  will  be  less  to 
morrow  and  the  next  and  the  next  day  until  it  falls 
back  to  its  lowest  point  two  weeks  from  now,  then  starts 
climbing  up  again  for  the  next  full  moon.  Every  sailor, 


172  t  of  Evil 

man  and  bird,  knows  this.  I  wonder  how  many  men 
and  women  in  this  money-mad  city  know  that  the  tide 
ever  ebbs  and  flows  around  Manhattan  Island  at  all." 

"It's  wonderful  —  isn't  it? " 

"What  dear,  the  men  and  women  of  New  York  or 
the  tides?" 

"Both,  Jim,  when  we  try  to  understand  them,  isn't 
it  all  God's  work?" 

"I  don't  know,  child.  I  sometimes  think  God  made 
the  world  and  only  man  or  the  devil  built  the  cities 
afterward.  I  believe  the  reason  why  the  spirit  grows 
savage  and  we  forget  that  we  are  human  here  so  often 
is  that  we  never  see  the  sun  or  moon.  We  never  hear 
the  stir  of  wings  in  the  sky,  feel  the  throb  of  Nature's 
heart  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  tides,  or  walk  with  our  heads 
among  the  stars." 

Harriet  sat  in  thoughtful  silence  a  while  and  a  curious 
searching  look  crept  into  her  eyes  as  she  softly  asked : 

"You  have  seen  much  of  Mr.  Bivens  lately,  Jim  — 
I've  wondered  if  you  have  never  yet  looked  your  dead 
love  in  the  face?" 

"No,  little  pal."' 

"You  are  still  afraid?" 

An  answer  started  to  his  lips  and  he  choked  it  back. 

She  laid  her  warm  hand  on  his. 

"Tell  me,  I  want  to  help  you.  We  are  pals,  you 
know." 

"Well,  I'm  ashamed  to  confess  it  dear,  but  I  am  afraid, 
horribly  afraid!  I've  been  fighting  some  grim  battles, 
but  I'll  have  to  see  her  sooner  or  later." 

"I    wish    you    wouldn't,"    the  girl    said,   wistfully. 

"I'll  try  to  keep  away  —  but  every  turn  in  the  wheel 
seems  only  to  bring  us  closer.  My  association  with 
Bivens  in  this  prosecution  of  crime  was  not  of  my  choos 
ing,  but  it  came.  I  shall  be  compelled  to  see  him  often." 


A  Ray  of  Sunlight  173 

"Does  she  know  that  you  are  afraid?" 

"I  think  not.  She  feels  that  I've  never  forgiven  her 
treachery,  but  come,  dearie,  it's  growing  dark,  we  must 
hurry.  I've  a  hard  night's  work  before  me.  You've 
helped  me  immensely." 

"How?" 

"I  don't  know,  child.  The  sunlight  just  seems  to  get 
tangled  in  your  hair,  and  it  always  shines  in  your  eyes 
day  and  night.  You  warm  me  into  life  and  health,  just 
being  near  you." 

Harriet  smiled  tenderly,  and  hurried  across  the  hills 
in  silence  by  his  side. 

When  they  passed  out  of  the  last  clump  of  trees  near 
the  subway  station  she  looked  up  into  his  face  and 
slowly  asked : 

"Did  any  one  else  ever  have  that  effect  on  you, 
Jim?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered  soberly. 

"Who?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  low  whisper,  but  it  was 
not  so  low  that  Stuart  failed  to  catch  its  accent  of  pain. 

He  laughed,  teasingly. 

"My  mother." 

"And  no  one  else?" 

"No  one  else." 

"WTell,  I'm  jealous  of  that  sort  of  influence.  I  wish 
a  monopoly." 

"You  have  it,  dear.  Somehow  others  bring  pain  and 
storm  and  stress.  But  you  have  always  brought  peace 
and  rest." 

"Then  I'm  content." 

She  looked  up  and  laughed  softly. 


CHAPTER  IX 

BENEATH    THE    SKIN 

Stuart  rose  next  morning  with  a  dull  headache.  The 
more  he  had  puzzled  over  the  speech  he  should  make 
to  the  mob  besieging  Bivens's  bank  the  more  doubtful 
seemed  the  outcome.  Still  to  remain  silent  longer, 
amid  the  accusations  which  were  being  daily  hurled  at 
him,  was  intolerable.  He  was  possessed  with  a  fierce 
desire  to  meet  at  least  one  of  his  foes  face  to  face. 

He  took  his  breakfast  early  and  walked  down  town 
to  his  office  through  the  Bowery  and  Centre  Street  as 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  occasionally.  Everything 
rubbed  him  the  wrong  way  this  morning.  Every  sight 
and  sound  of  the  city  seemed  to  bruise  and  hurt. 
Never  before  had  the  ugliness  of  the  elevated  railroad 
struck  him  with  such  crushing  hopelessness.  He  felt 
that  its  rusty  hideous  form,  looming  against  the  sky 
line,  was  a  crime.  The  crowded  trolley  cars,  the  rush 
ing,  rattling  lines  of  drays,  the  ugly,  dirty,  cheap-looking 
people  hurrying  past  —  it  was  all  horrible ! 

The  sense  of  loneliness  and  isolation  grew  upon  him  - 
a  sort  of  dumb  hatred  of  all  these  unthinking  stolid 
beasts  of  burden  who  were  bending  their  backs  daily 
to  their  stupid  tasks,  trampling  each  other  to  death,  too, 
in  their  own  mad  sordid  scramble  for  money. 

He  paused  at  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  and  stood  in 
silence  while  the  black  torrent  of  unmeaning  faces,  whose 
expression  this  morning  was  distinctly  inhuman,  rolled 
past  and  spread  out  into  the  square  and  streets. 

174 


Beneath  the  Skin  175 

He  was  glad  for  the  moment  that  not  one  of  them  knew 
him,  though  he  was  daily  giving  his  life  to  their  service. 

He  turned  and  pushed  his  way  through  the  throngs, 
crossed  the  City  Hall  Square  and  in  a  few  minutes 
reached  the  Broadway  corner  on  which  the  Bivens 
bank  stood.  Its  magnificent  marble  facade,  crowned 
with  gilded  dome,  gleamed  white  and  solemn  in  the 
morning  sun  like  some  proud  temple  man  had  built  to 
the  worship  of  God. 

The  crowd  about  its  doors,  which  had  not  yet  been 
opened,  was  unusually  large  and  turbulent.  With  the 
aid  of  two  officers  he  pushed  and  fought  his  way  un 
recognized  through  the  mob  and  at  last  reached  the  side 
entrance  of  the  bank. 

Bivens,  watching  from  within,  opened  the  door  and 
he  stepped  inside. 

"Jim,  if  you  try  to  speak  to  that  gang  of  madmen 
you're  a  fool,"  the  financier  began,  with  a  scowl.  "What 
they  need  is  not  eloquence,  they  need  a  club." 

"You  can't  blame  them  for  wanting  their  money, 
Cal,  after  all  it's  theirs,  not  yours,  you  know." 

"You're  going  to  talk  to  them?" 

"I'm  going  to  try." 

"It's  a  foolish  and  dangerous  thing  to  do." 

"Nonsense.  They  are  at  least  human.  They  have 
reason." 

A  low  howl  of  rage  stirred  the  crowd  without.  A  fight 
for  place  in  the  line  had  broken  out. 

"Is  that  reason?"  Bivens  asked,  cynically.  "It's  not 
even  human.  It's  the  growl  of  the  beast  that  always 
sleeps  beneath  the  skin." 

"I  haven't  lost  faith  in  my  fellow-men  yet,"  was  the 
dogged  answer. 

"All  right,  good  luck.  I  know  your  intentions  are 
the  best.  You  think  it's  your  duty  to  yourself  and  the 


176  The  Root  of  Evil 

people.  I'm  sorry  I  can't  stay  to  hear  you.  I've  an 
important  meeting  this  morning.  I  must  go  at  once. 
I've  instructed  my  detectives  inside  to  stand  by  you 
if  you  need  help." 

"Thanks,  I  won't  need  them." 

The  little  swarthy  figure  paused  at  the  door. 

"Don't  fool  yourself  into  believing  anybody  in  that 
crowd  cares  about  the  work  you  have  done  in  their 
service.  Scores  of  them  are  under  deep  personal 
obligations  to  me.  But  I'm  leaving  this  building  by  my 
neighbour's  roof  this  morning.  You  don't  want  to 
forget,  Jim,  that  the  rabble  for  whom  even  Christ  lived 
and  died,  shouted  in  his  face  at  last  'Crucify  him! 
Crucify  him!'" 

Stuart  smiled  at  the  incongruous  farce  of  Bivens's 
familiarity  with  the  Bible  —  yet  there  was  no  mistak 
ing  the  fact  of  his  emotions  and  the  sincerity  of  his 
religious  faith.  The  little  financier  had  already  begun 
to  pose  to  himself  as  a  martyr  and  a  public  benefactor. 
In  spite  of  howling  mobs  and  crushing  markets  he  was 
busy  now  saving  the  credit  of  the  Nation!  He  was  one 
of  the  group  of  the  king's  council  engaged  in  that  im 
portant  work.  The  "undesirable  "  had  been  eliminated 
and  now  a  vast  pool  was  being  formed  to  support  the 
market  and  kindly  hold  the  securities  until  the  people 
could  get  their  breath  and  make  money  enough  to  buy 
them  back  at  a  profit.  In  due  time  he  knew  that  his 
name  would  be  enrolled  with  the  king's  as  a  patriot 
and  public  benefactor. 

Bivens  lingered  a  moment  as  if  reluctant  to  give  up 
dissuading  Stuart,  waved  him  a  friendly  adieu  at  last, 
stepped  into  the  elevator  and  left  by  the  roof. 

It  was  yet  fifteen  minutes  to  ten,  the  hour  for  open 
ing  the  bank's  doors,  and  Stuart  decided  to  address  the 
crowd  immediately. 


Beneath  the  Skin  177 

In  accordance  with  Bivens's  instructions  the  cashier 
opened  the  bronze  doors  and  squeezed  through,  admit 
ting  Stuart  and  two  detectives.  At  the  sight  of  the 
cashier  a  thrill  of  horror  swept  the  crowd  —  half-groan, 
half-sigh,  half-cry,  inarticulate,  inhuman,  beastly  in 
in  its  grovelling  fear. 

" Great  God!" 

"  They  're  going  to  suspend!" 

"It's  all  over!" 

The  groans  melted  into  broken  curses  and  exclama 
tions  and  died  into  silence  as  the  cashier  lifted  his  hand. 

"I  have  the  honour,  gentlemen,  of  presenting  this 
morning  a  distinguished  servant  of  the  people  who  has 
a  message  for  you,  the  man  whose  unselfish  devotion 
to  the  cause  of  Justice  has  earned  him  the  right  to  a 
hearing,  the  Honourable  James  Stuart,  your  District 
Attorney." 

The  young  lawyer  stepped  from  the  doorway  in 
front  of  the  cashier,  who  retired. 

A  roar  of  rage  swept  the  crowd.  Howls,  curses,  cat 
calls,  hisses,  hoots  and  yells  were  hurled  into  his  face. 
It  was  a  new  experience  in  Stuart's  life.  He  flushed 
red,  stood  for  a  moment  surveying  the  mob  with  grow 
ing  anger,  and  lifted  his  hand  for  silence. 

The  answer  was  a  storm  of  hisses.  Apparently  he 
hadn't  a  friend  in  all  the  swaying  mass  of  howling 
maniacs.  He  drew  his  heavy  brows  down  over  his 
eyes  and  the  square  jaws  ground  together  with  sullen 
determination.  He  folded  his  arms  deliberately  and 
waited  for  silence.  Evidently  these  people  had  swal 
lowed  every  lie  his  enemies  had  printed.  It  was  in 
credible  that  rational  human  beings  should  be  such 
fools,  but  it  was  true. 

For  a  moment  the  hideous  thought  forced  itself  into 
his  soul  that  a  .life  of  unselfish  public  service  was  futile. 


178  The  Root  of  Evil 

In  all  this  babel  of  jangling  cries  and  cat-calls  not  one 
voice  was  lifted  in  decent  protest.  He  felt  that  his 
work  was  a  failure  and  he  had  been  pitching  straws 
against  the  wind. 

As  wave  after  wave  of  idiotic  hissing  rose  and  fell 
only  to  swell  again  into  greater  fury  a  feeling  of  blind 
rage  filled  his  being.  He  understood  at  last  the  per 
sistence  in  the  human  mind  of  the  doctrine  of  hell.  It 
was  a  necessity  of  the  moral  universe.  God  simply 
must  consume  such  trash.  Nothing  else  could  be  done 
with  it. 

With  a  sudden  impulse,  he  threw  his  right  hand  high 
above  his  head  and  his  voice  boomed  over  the  crowd 
in  a  peal  of  command.  The  effect  was  electrical.  A 
painful  hush  followed.  The  swaying  mass  stood  rooted 
in  their  tracks  by  the  tones  of  authority  his  first  word 
had  expresseed. 

"Gentlemen!" 

He  paused  and  his  next  words  were  spoken  in  intense 
silence. 

"My  answer  to  the  extraordinary  greeting  you  have 
given  me  this  morning  is  simple.  I  am  not  working 
for  your  approval.  I  work  for  my  own  approval, 
because  I  must  in  obedience  to  the  call  within  me. 
Long  ago  in  my  life  I  gave  up  ambition  and  ceased  to 
ask  anything  for  myself.  You  cannot  destroy  my  career 
because  I  cherish  none.  If  I  succeed  in  the  work  to 
which  I  have  been  called  it  is  well.  If  I  fail,  it  is  also 
well.  I  have  done  my  duty  and  obeyed  the  call  to  the 
service  of  my  fellow-man!" 

Again  he  paused  as  his  voice  choked  with  deep  emo 
tion.  The  crowd  stared  as  if  in  a  spell. 

"The  scene  you  are  enacting  here  this  morning  is  a 
disgrace  to  humanity.  You  have  surrendered  to  the 
unmeaning  fear  that  drives  a  herd  of  swine  over  a 


Beneath  the  Skin  179 

precipice.  You  have,  by  an  act  of  your  will,  joined  in  a 
movement  to  paralyze  the  motive  power  of  the  world 
—  faith!  There  is  but  one  thing  that  runs  this  earth 
of  ours  for  a  single  day  —  faith  in  one  another. 

"You  are  scrambling  here  for  a  few  dollars  in  this 
bank.  What  can  you  do  with  it  when  you  draw  it 
out?  There  is  not  enough  cash  in  the  world  to  transact 
a  single  day's  business.  Business  is  run  on  credit  — 
faith. 

"  Faith  is  the  sustaining  force  of  all  personal  and 
social  life ;  a  panic  is  its  end  —  a  lapse  to  the  level  of  the 
beast  of  the  field  whose  life  is  ruled  by  fear. 

"Banks  were  not  made  as  strong  boxes  for  the  hoard 
ing  of  money.  Money  was  hoarded  in  strong  boxes 
centuries  before  banks  were  invented.  Banks  are 
institutions  of  public  credit,  to  facilitate  the  useful 
circulation  of  money,  not  its  withdrawal  from  use. 
The  business  of  a  bank  is  to  keep  money  moving  and 
make  it  do  the  world's  work.  You  are  attempting  to 
stop  the  work  by  the  destruction  of  its  faith." 

Suddenly  a  man  who  had  quietly  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  sprang  on  the  step  before  the  speaker 
and  thrust  a  revolver  into  his  face. 

A  cry  of  horror  swept  the  crowd,  as  Stuart  paused, 
turned  pale  and  looked  steadily  down  the  flashing  barrel 
into  the  madman's  eyes. 

"Who  started  this  work  of  destruction?"  he  cried  — 
"You  —  You  —  Do  you  hear  me?  And  I've  been 
commanded  by  God  Almighty  to  end  this  trouble  by 
ending  you!" 

As  Stuart  held  the  glittering  eyes  levelled  at  him 
across  the  blue- black  barrel  he  could  see  the  man's 
nervous  and  uncertain  finger  twitching  at  the  trigger. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  conscious  existence  he  felt 
the  stinging  anguish  of  physical  fear.  Never  had  life  — 


180  The  Root  of  Evil 

life  for  its  own  sake  with  strong  sound  limbs  and  alert 
mind  —  seemed  so  sweet.  At  the  first  touch  of  fear  his 
tall  body  had  suddenly  stiffened  and  the  pallor  of  death 
shrouded  his  face.  The  next  instant  came  the  conscious 
shame  and  horror  of  the  moment's  cowardice.  The 
crowd  that  watched  the  tragic  situation  had  not  known, 
but  he  knew  and  it  was  enough.  His  face  flushed  red 
and  his  deep  set  eyes  began  to  sparkle  with  anger,  the 
red  animal-anger  of  power  wrought  to  insane  fury. 
Every  nerve  and  muscle  and  sinew  quivered  with  the 
desire  to  kill,  a  consuming  passionate  desperate  lust! 
His  fingers  closed  involuntarily  as  the  claws  of  a  beast 
and  he  drew  his  breath  with  trembling  intensity. 

For  one  brief  instant  he  hated  all  men.  Not  merely 
the  fool  who  had  shamed  his  soul  with  fear  but  all  the 
mob  of  hissing  howling  brutes  that  surged  about  him 
and  all  the  millions  like  them  that  crawl  over  the  earth. 

There  was  a  pause  of  only  a  few  seconds  while  these 
ideas  flashed  with  the  vividness  of  lightning  through 
his  imagination.  The  crowd  noted  no  pause  of  any 
kind.  His  action  seemed  instantaneous. 

With  a  sudden  panther-like  spring  he  leaped  across 
the  five  feet  which  separated  him  from  the  man  who 
held  the  revolver.  His  left  hand  gripped  the  weapon 
and  threw  it  into  the  air  as  it  was  fired  while  his  right 
hand  closed  on  the  throat  of  his  assailant.  With  his 
knee  against  the  man's  breast  he  hurled  him'  down  the 
steps,  wrenched  the  revolver  from  his  hand  and  with  a 
single  blow  knocked  him  into  insensibility. 

The  spell  was  broken.  The  mob  that  hated  him 
saw  their  chance.  A  yell  of  rage  swept  them,  and  a 
dozen  men  sprang  toward  him  with  curses.  For  a 
moment  he  held  his  own,  when  suddenly  a  well-directed 
blow  from  behind  knocked  him  down. 

He   sprang   to   his   feet   instantly,    climbed   on   the 


'He  hurled  him  down  the  steps" 


Beneath  the  Skin  181 

shoulders  of  the  mass  of  enraged  men  who  pressed  on 
him  from  every  direction  and  attempted  to  walk  on 
their  heads  toward  the  two  detectives  who  were 
fighting  their  way  toward  him.  He  made  two  successful 
leaps  missed  his  foothold  and  fell  in  the  arms  of  his 
enemies.  In  blind  fury  he  felt  the  smash  of  blows  on 
his  face  and  head.  A  stream  of  blood  was  trickling 
down  his  forehead  and  its  salty  taste  penetrated  his 
mouth.  With  a  desperate  effort  he  freed  his  hands  and 
knocked  two  men  down. 

A  sudden  crash  from  space  seemed  to  send  the  world 
into  a  mass  of  flaming  splinters  and  the  light  faded. 
He  heard  the  soft  rustle  of  silk  and  felt  the  pressure  of  a 
woman's  lips  on  his.  Surely  he  must  be  dead  was  the 
first  thought  that  flashed  through  his  mind.  And  then 
from  somewhere  far  away  in  space  came  Nan's  voice 
low  and  tense: 

"Come  back,  Jim,  dear,  I've  something  to  tell  you. 
You  can't  die,  you  shall  not  die  until  I've  told  you!" 

A  tear  fell  on  his  face  and  he  knew  no  more  until 
suddenly,  into  the  dark  cave  in  which  he  lay  dead  a 
ray  of  sunlight  flashed. 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  found  Nan  bending  over  him. 
His  hand  rested  on  her  soft  aim  and  his  head  lay  pil 
lowed  on  her  breast. 

"Why,  Nan,  it's  you." 

Her  lips  quivered.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  mur 
mured  : 

"Thank  God,  you're  alive!" 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  slowly  rising.  "Very  much 
alive;  what's  happened?" 

She  placed  her  finger  on  his  lips. 

"Oh,  I  remember  now." 

"You  mustn't  talk,  Jim,"  she  said,  with  quiet 
authority.  "The  doctor  will  be  here  in  a  moment." 


1 82  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Oh,  I'm  not  hurt  much,  just  a  few  scratches  and 
bruises."  He  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow.  "Oh  the 
snake  that  choked  me!  If  I  could  only  have  killed  him 
I  think  I'd  be  happy." 

He  looked  at  Nan  in  a  stupor. 

"But  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  here,  Nan?" 

He  looked  about  the  room  and  saw  that  he  was  in 
the  inner  office  of  the  president  of  the  bank,  alone  with 
Bivens's  wife.  He  was  lying  on  the  big  leather  couch. 

"I  heard  that  you  were  going  to  speak  this  morning. 
I  wanted  to  hear  you  and  came.  I  arrived  just  as  you 
began  and  managed  to  get  into  the  bank.  I  saw  that 
man  try  to  kill  you,  Jim,  and  that  crowd  of  wild  beasts 
trampling  you  to  death.  I  saw  you  knock  them  down 
one  at  a  time  while  I  watched  you,  paralyzed  with  fear. 
I  wanted  to  rush  out  and  fight  my  way  to  your  side  — 
but  I  was  a  coward.  I  tried  to  go,  but  my  legs  wouldn't 
move.  I  only  stood  there  trembling  and  sobbing  for 
some  one  else  to  go.  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  very  heroic." 

Stuart  smiled  feebly. 

"I  understand,  Nan,  I  felt  the  same  thing  out  there." 

"The  two  detectives  pulled  you  out  and  dragged  you 
into  the  bank." 

The  doctor  entered  and  quickly  dressed  Stuart's 
wounds,  and  turned  to  Nan. 

"He'll  be  all  right  in  a  week  or  so,  Mrs.  Bivens  — 
provided  he  doesn't  insist  on  breaking  the  run  on  another 
bank  by  the  spell  of  his  eloquence.     I  hope  you  can 
persuade  him  not  to  try  that  again." 

"I  think  I'm  fully  persuaded,  Doctor,"  Stuart  an 
swered  grimly,  "I've  seen  a  great  light  to-day." 

When  the  doctor  had  gone  and  Nan  was  left  alone 
with  Stuart  an  embarrassed  silence  fell  between  them. 

She  was  quietly  wondering  if  he  were  fully  unconscious 
when  she  was  sobbing  and  saying  some  very  foolish 


Beneath    the  Skin  183 

things.  Above  all  she  was  wondering  whether  he  knew 
that  she  had  kissed  him. 

And  the  man  was  wondering  if  the  memory  of  the 
tear  that  fell  on  his  face  and  the  pressure  of  a  woman's 
lips  were  only  a  dream. 

He  scouted  the  idea  of  going  to  a  hospital  and  Nan 
insisted  on  taking  him  home. 

When  her  carstopped  at  South  Washington  Square  and 
Stuart  insisted  on  scrambling  out  alone,!she  held  his  hand 
tight  a  moment  and  spoke  with  trembling  earnestness: 

"You  will  see  me  now,  Jim,  and  be  friends? " 

He  answered  promptly. 

"Yes,  Nan,  I  will.  The  world  is  never  going  to  be 
quite  the  same  place  for  me  after  to-day.  There  was 
one  moment  this  morning  in  which  I  think  I  lived  a 
thousand  years." 

A  hot  flush  stole  over  the  woman's  beautiful  face  as 
she  looked  steadily  into  his  eyes  and  quietly  asked: 

"What  moment  was  that?" 

"The  moment  I  looked  down  that  gun  barrel,  saw  the 
stupid  hate  in  that  fool's  eyes  and  felt  the  throb  of  the 
insane  desire  to  kill  in  the  people  behind  him,  the  people 
for  whom  I've  been  giving  my  life  a  joyous  sacrifice." 

Nan  smiled  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"Oh!  I  see  —  well,  you've  made  me  very  happy 
with  your  promise,  I  know  you'll  keep  your  word." 

Stuart  looked  at  her  a  moment  curiously.  Was 
there  a  tear  trembling  in  the  corner  of  her  dark  eyes 
as  she  spoke  the  last  sentence,  or  was  it  his  imagination? 

He  pressed  her  hand  firmly. 

"You  are  more  beautiful  than  ever,  Nan.  Yes,  I'll 
keep  my  word.  Good-bye  until  I  call." 

And  the  woman  smiled  in  triumph. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DEMI-GOD 

The  clouds  of  the  panic  slowly  lifted  and  the  sun  be 
gan  once  more  to  shine.  A  fearless  officer  of  the  law  had 
struck  a  blow  for  justice  that  marked  the  beginning  of 
a  new  era  of  national  life.  And  yet  apparently  the 
only  men  to  profit  by  it  were  the  giants  who  rode  the 
storm  it  had  created.  The  people  were  left  in  mental 
bewilderment.  To  their  short-ranged  vision  the  young 
District  Attorney  who  lay  prostrate  on  a  bed  of  illness 
was  a  man  who  had  been  tried  and  found  wanting.  He 
had  either  wilfully  and  corruptly  played  into  the  hands 
of  a  powerful  group  of  millionaires  or  had  blunderingly 
done  so.  In  either  case  the  act  was  a  crime. 

Slowly  but  surely  the  prices  of  stocks  began  to  mount 
and  the  great  men  who  had  bought  them  at  the  bottom 
grew  greater. 

Incidentally  a  corner  in  wheat  was  suddenly  devel 
oped,  and  the  price  of  bread  rose  twenty  per  cent. 
Bivens  was  found  to  be  the  mysterious  power  behind 
the  deal,  and  before  the  old-timers  in  the  wheat  pit 
could  marshal  their  forces  to  crush  him,  he  closed  out 
his  holdings  at  a  profit  of  five  millions. 

The  little  financier  awoke  next  morning  to  find  him 
self  the  most  famous  man  in  America.  His  picture  now 
appeared  everywhere  and  all  sorts  of  writers  began  to 
weave  marvellous  stories  of  his  achievements.  The 
suicide  of  his  associates,  the  higher  price  of  bread,  and 
the  long  trail  of  blood  behind  the  panic  were  forgotten 

184 


The  Demi-God  185 

by  the  rabble  which  began  to  regard  him  with  the  awe 
due  a  demi-god. 

Nan  was  insisting  again  that  he  make  Stuart  an  offer 
to  become  his  associate  in  business. 

"But  my  dear,"  the  financier  protested,  "I've  told 
you  over  and  over  again,  in  the  best  of  humour  and  with 
infinite  patience,  that  I'd  jump  at  the  chance,  but  I 
can't  get  on  my  knees  and  beg  him,  can  I?" 

"I'm  sure  he  will  consider  your  offer  now." 

"He  turned  it  down  once  emphatically." 

"Times  have  changed." 

"But  he  hasn't.  He  promised  you  the  day  he  was 
hurt  to  call  at  the  house.  He  hasn't  done  it. " 

"He  has  been  ill  in  bed  ever  since.  He  will  come 
when  he  is  up  again. " 

"Perhaps,"  Bivens  answered,  musingly. 

"Besides,"  she  continued,  "it's  the  right  moment 
to  approach  him.  The  politicians  have  turned  him 
down.  Both  parties  have  named  new  men  for  his  office. 
He  resents  this  action  intensely.  He  don't  want  the 
office,  but  he  does  want  the  recognition  of  his  services." 

Bivens  shook  his  head. 

"It's  no  use.  Jim's  a  dreamer.  He'll  smile  and 
wait  for  the  next  generation  to  value  his  work. " 

"He  won't  have  to  wait  that  long.  When  this 
panic  has  passed  he  will  be  the  biggest  thing  to  emerge 
from  it.  His  personality  will  be  worth  millions  to 
you." 

The  woman's  face  was  tense  with  pleading. 

Bivens  looked  at  her  a  moment  curiously  and  she 
turned  her  eyes  away. 

"Why  do  you  think  he  has  changed  his  attitude 
toward  me?" 

"From  something  he  said.  That  mob  has  written 
a  question  mark  before  his  life. " 


T86  The  Root  of  Evil 

"By  George!"  he  exlaimed,  his  black  eyes  sparkling. 
"It  may  be  possible. " 

"You'll  try?"  Nan  asked  eagerly. 

"No." 

"Why  not?"  she  cried  with  anger. 

"The  little  man  smiled  cunningly. 

" I'll  not  try  —  I'll  do  it." 

His  wife  laughed. 

"Yes,  I'll  do  it,"  Bivens  continued  with  elation. 
"And  I'll  make  my  offer  so  big  and  generous  I'll  take 
his  breath,  so  big  that  no  man  in  human  shape  can  resist 
it.  I'll  prepare  every  step  so  carefully  that  there  can  be 
no  possibility  of  failure." 

"How?"  ' 

Nan  spoke  her  question  with  the  eagerness  of  a  child, 
and  the  shrewd  man  of  the  world  never  dreamed  of  the 
sinister  motive  coiled  within  the  silent  depths  of  her 
heart. 

"I've  an  enemy  somewhere  among  the  fallen," 
Bivens  went  on  musingly,  "who  is  dying  hard.  With 
his  last  gasp  he  is  trying  still  to  reach  my  heart.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  I  have  unlimited  resources,  this 
man  is  constantly  circulating  reports  about  the  sound 
ness  of  my  finances.  He  uses  the  telephone  principally 
and  he  has  started  two  runs  on  my  bank  within  the 
past  month.  Another  is  pending.  I'm  going  to  ask 
Jim  to  preside  over  an  investigation  of  my  resources 
in  the  presence  of  a  dozen  newspaper  reporters. " 
Nan  stooped  and  kissed  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  LAMP  OF  ALADDIN 

When  Stuart  reached  Bivens's  new  offices  in  Wall 
Street  he  was  amazed  at  their  size  and  magnificence. 
The  first  impression  was  one  of  dazzling  splendour.  The 
huge  reception  hall  was  trimmed  from  floor  to  dome  in 
onyx  and  gold.  The  draperies  were  a  deep  scarlet, 
with  massive  furniture  and  oriental  rugs  to  match. 
A  fountain  with  concealed  electric  lights  adorned  the 
centre. 

Stuart  nodded  to  a  group  of  reporters  waiting  for  the 
chance  of  a  word  with  the  great  man. 

A  reporter  ventured  to  give  him  some  informa 
tion. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  too  late,  not  a  chance  to  see  him; 
look  at  'em  waiting. " 

He  waved  around  the  room  at  the  crowd  lounging 
about  or  gazing  at  the  paintings. 

"Looks  like  a  full  house,  doesn't  it?"  Stuart  answered 
casually. 

"They've  been  here  for  hours.  There's  a  senator 
of  the  United  States,  three  members  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  the  Ambassador  of  a  European 
court,  the  Governor  of  a  Chinese  province,  a  Japanese 
Prince  and  a  dozen  big  politicians  from  as  many  states, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  small  fry. " 

"Well,  I  have  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Bivens  at 
this  hour." 

"Really!"  the  reporter  gasped.  "Then  for  heaven's 

187 


1 88  The  Root  of  Evil 

sake  give  me  a  chance  at  you  five  minutes  before  the 
other  fellows.  Remember  now,  I  saw  you  first !" 

He  was  still  pleading  when  Stuart  smilingly  drew 
away  and  followed  one  of  Bivens's  secretaries. 

He  passed  rapidly  through  a  labyrinth  of  outer  offices, 
each  entrance  guarded  by  a  detective  who  eyed  him 
with  keen  scrutiny  as  he  passed. 

Bivens  came  forward  to  greet  him  with  outstretched 
hands. 

"I  needn't  say  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Jim.  How  do 
you  like  my  new  quarters?" 

' 'Absolutely  stunning.  I  had  no  idea  you  cultivated 
such  ceremonial  splendours  in  your  business. " 

"Yes,  I  like  it,"  the  financier  admitted  thoughtfully. 
"I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you  on  the  sly  that  it  was 
Nan's  idea,  at  first,  but  I  took  to  it  like  a  duck  to  water. 
And  the  more  I  see  of  it  the  better  I  like  it. " 

Bivens  stood  warming  himself  before  a  cheerful 
blaze  of  logs  while  he  spoke  and  Stuart  had  quietly 
taken  a  seat  and  watched  him  with  growing  interest. 

In  spite  of  his  contempt  for  the  mere  possession  of 
money,  in  spite  of  his  traditional  contempt  for  Bivens's 
antecedents,  character  and  business  methods  he  found 
himself  unconsciously  paying  homage  to  the  power  the 
little  dark  swarthy  figure  to-day  incarnated. 

He  was  struck  too  with  the  fact  that  remarkable 
changes  had  taken  place  in  his  physical  appearance  dur 
ing  the  past  ten  years  of  his  reign  as  a  financial  potentate. 
Into  his  features  had  grown  an  undoubted  dignity.  His 
mouth  had  grown  harder,  colder,  and  more  cruel  and 
more  significant  of  power.  His  eyes  had  sunk  back 
deeper  into  his  high  forehead  and  sparkled  with  fiercer 
light.  He  had  become  more  difficult  of  approach  and 
carried  himself  with  quiet  conscious  pride. 

Stuart   was   scarcely   prepared   for   the   hearty,   old 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  189 

fashioned  cordial  way  in  which  he  went  about  the  busi 
ness  for  which  he  had  asked  him  to  come. 

"I'm  glad  you  like  it,  Jim, "  he  added  after  a  pause. 

"It's  magnificent." 

"Glad,"  he  repeated,  "because  you're  going  to  come 
in  here  with  me." 

The  lawyer  lifted  his  brows  and  suppressed  a  smile. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  smile,"  Bivens  went  on  good- 
naturedly.  "It's  as  fixed  as  fate.  You  are  the  only 
man  in  New  York  who  can  do  the  work  I've  laid  out  and 
you've  got  to  come.  The  swine  who  made  up  your 
convention  the  other  day  knew  what  they  were  about 
when  they  turned  you  down.  You  were  too  big  a  man 
for  the  job  they  gave  you. " 

He  paused  and  drew  closer. 

"Now,  Jim,  this  is  your  day,  those  fellows  out  there 
in  the  reception  hall  can  wait.  You  and  I  must  have 
this  thing  out  —  man  to  man,  heart  to  heart.  You 
can  talk  plainly  and  I'll  answer  squarely. 

The  little  man  stopped  again  and  looked  at  the  ceiling 
thoughtfully. 

"I've  got  a  proposition  to  make  to  you,  so  big  you've 
got  to  hear  it,  so  big  you  can't  get  away  from  it,  because 
you're  not  a  fool.  You  are  a  man  of  genius.  You  have 
eloquence  and  magnetism,  intellect  and  will.  Among 
all  the  men  I  have  met  in  this  town  I  don't  know  one 
who  is  your  equal.  There  is  no  height  to  which  you  can 
not  climb  when  once  your  feet  are  on  the  ladder.  And 
I'm  going  to  put  them  there." 

The  assurance  in  Bivens's  voice  and  the  contagious 
enthusiasm  with  which  he  spoke  impressed  Stuart. 

Bivens  was  quick  to  recognize  it  and  strike  at  once. 

"Before  I  present  my  plans  I  want  to  show  you  that 
I  can  make  good  my  word.  I  have  caused  these  repor 
ters  to  be  sent  here  to-day  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the 


190  The  Root  of  Evil 

widest  publicity  to  the  facts  about  my  fortune.  Another 
run  has  been  planned  to-morrow  on  one  of  my  banks. 
I  have  placed  my  money  and  securities  in  the  next 
room  so  arranged  that  you  can  verify  my  statements, 
and  at  the  proper  moment  I  shall  ask  these  reporters 
into  the  place  and  let  them  see  with  their  own  eyes. 
There  can  be  no  more  rumours  in  Wall  Street  about  my 
financial  status.  Come  inhere." 

Bivens  led  the  way  into  the  room  beyond,  which  was 
the  meeting  place  of  the  directors  of  his  many  corpor 
ations. 

Stuart  had  scarcely  passed  the  door  when  he  stopped, 
struck  dumb  with  amazement.  In  the  centre  of  the 
great  office  was  a  sight  that  held  him  spellbound.  An 
immense  vermilion  wood  table  six  feet  wide  and  fifty 
feet  in  length  filled  the  centre.  On  it  the  wizard  had 
placed  his  fortune  of  ninety  millions  of  dollars.  Twen 
ty  millions  were  in  gold  its  heavy  wreight  sustained  by 
extra  stanchions.  The  coin,  apparently  all  new  from 
the  National  mint,  was  carefully  arranged  around  the 
edges  of  the  table  in  a  solid  bulwark  two  feet  high. 

Behind  this  gleaming  yellow  pile  of  gold  he  had  placed 
his  stocks  and  bonds  —  each  pile  showing  on  its  top 
layer  the  rich  green,  gold  or  purple  colours  of  its  issue, 
each  pile  marked  with  a  tag  which  showed  its  total 
amount. 

The  effect  was  stunning.  The  whole  scheme  of 
decorations  of  the  immense  room  lent  itself  to  the  effects 
the  financier  had  sought  to  produce.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  rich  brown  leather  fastened  with  leather- 
covered  nails  and  every  piece  of  woodwork  in  the  floor, 
wainscoting,  beams  and  panels  as  well  as  the  furniture, 
was  of  solid  dark  red  vermilion  wood  from  the  heart  of 
a  South  American  forest. 

From  the  panelling  on  the   inside   wall   huge   doors 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  191 

of  a  safe  stood  open,  showing  the  entrance  to  a  steel 
vault  from  which  a  noiseless  electric  elevator  led  to  the 
storage  vaults  five  stories  below  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
The  dark  panelling,  the  massive  furniture,  and  the 
rich  leather-covered  walls  with  their  heavy  ceilings, 
all  accented  the  weird  effects  of  the  millions  of  gleaming 
coin  and  gorgeously  tinted  stocks  and  bonds.  The 
huge  table  seemed  to  fill  and  crowd  the  entire  room  and 
the  wall  of  gold  to  be  pushing  itself  against  the  ceiling. 

Bivens  approached  the  table  softly  and  reverently, 
as  a  priest  approaches  the  High  Altar,  and  touched  the 
gold  with  the  tips  of  his  slender  little  fingers. 

"In  romances,  Jim,  remorse  always  crushes  and  kills 
the  rich  man 

Bivens  paused  and  smiled. 

/'But  in  life,  never!  He  laughs  and  grows  fat.  I 
haven't  reached  the  fat  period  yet  because  I've  just 
begun  - 

"You've  just  begun?"  Stuart  interrupted,  laughingly. 

"Yes,  you'll  understand  what  I  mean  before  I've 
finished  the  day's  work." 

"But  why?"  the  young  lawyer  asked  passionately. 
",Such  a  purpose  seems  to  me  in  view  of  this  stunning 
revelation  the  sheerest  insanity.  Life,  the  one  price 
less  tiling  we  possess,  is  too  short.  And  what  lies 
beyond  the  six  feet  of  earth  we  don't  know. " 

"That's  because  you're  an  unbeliever,  Jim." 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  seriousness  with 
which  Bivens  spoke.  Yet  Stuart  laughed  in  spite  of 
his  effort  to  control  the  impulse. 

"On  the  other  hand,  Cal, "  he  answered,  with  mis 
chievous  banter,  "if  your  little  heaven  and  your  little 
hell  in  which  you  seem  to  take  so  much  comfort  are 
true,  so  much  the  worse.  I  can  see  you  shovelling  coal 
through  all  eternity  — 


192  The  Root  of  Evil 

"But  I  happen  to  be  going  to  the  other  place," 
Bivens  broke  in,  good-naturedly. 

Stuart  looked  at  the  pile  of  gold  a  moment  and  then 
at  Bivens  and  said  slowly: 

"Well,  if  you  do  get  there,  Cal,  there's  one  thing  cer 
tain,  the  angels  will  all  have  to  sleep  with  their  pocket- 
books  under  their  pillows." 

Bivens's  eyes  sparkled  and  a  smile  played  about  the 
hard  lines  of  his  mouth.  In  spite  of  its  doubtful  nature 
he  enjoyed  the  tribute  to  his  financial  genius  beneath 
the  banter  of  his  friend's  joke. 

With  a  gesture  of  conscious  dignity  he  turned  to  the 
table  and  quietly  said: 

"Count  one  of  those  heaps  of  coin.  Each  stack  of 
twenty-dollar  pieces  contains  a  hundred  —  exactly 
two  thousand  dollars.  Between  each  pile  of  a  million 
a  scarlet  thread  is  drawn.  When  you  have  counted 
one  section,  you  will  find  twenty  exactly  like  it.  Verify 
my  statement  and  then  make  a  note  of  those  packages 
of  stocks  and  bonds,  all  gilt-edged  dividend  payers. 
On  that  side  table  there  in  the  corner,"  he  waved  in 
that  direction,  "I  have  thrown  a  heap  of  rubbish,  the 
common  stock  of  various  corporations,  not  yet  paying 
a  dividend.  Some  of  it  will  be  very  valuable  in  time. 
For  example,  100,000  shares  of  U.  S.  Steel,  Common. 
When  that  stock  reaches  par,  and  it  will  yet  do  it,  that 
package  alone  will  be  worth  ten  millions.  I  haven't 
counted  any  of  that  stuff  at  all. 

"You  will  find  on  this  table  exactly  ninety  millions. 
Within  an  hour  you  can  examine  each  division  of  coin, 
stocks  and  bonds  and  bear  witness  to  the  truth  of  my 
assertions.  I'm  going  to  close  that  door  and  leave  you 
here  for  an  hour. " 

"Alone  with  all  that?" 

"Oh,  there's  only  one  way   out,"    Bivens    laughed. 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  193 

"  through  my  little  reception  room  and  I'll  be  there. 
I'll  meet  some  of  the  gentlemen  who  are  waiting.  When 
you  are  satisfied  of  the  accuracy  of  my  account,  just  tap 
on  my  door  and  I'll  join  you  immediately.  Do  the 
inspection  carefully.  It's  of  grave  importance.  I 
shall  call  on  you  as  a  witness  bye  and  bye  before  that 
group  of  newspaper  men." 

When  Bivens  disappeared  into  the  adjoining  room, 
Stuart  at  once  began  the  task  of  verifying  the  financier's 
statement  of  his  assets.  In  half  an  hour  he  had  com 
pleted  the  task  with  sufficient  care  to  be  reasonably  sure 
there  could  be  no  mistake  —  a  milh'on  dollars  more  or 
less  was  of  no  importance.  Ten  millions  in  gold  would 
make  good  every  liability  of  Bivens's  banks. 

When  Stuart  had  satisfied  himself  of  the  accuracy  of 
the  count,  he  stood  gazing  at  the  queer  looking  piles 
of  yellow  metal  and  richly  tinted  paper,  stunned  by  the 
attempt  to  realize  the  enormous  power  over  men  which 
it  represented.  Even  in  dead  bulk  as  it  lay  there  the 
power  it  represented  was  something  enormous,  an 
annual  banking  income  of  at  least  four  millions,  a  sum 
beyond  the  power  of  any  human  being  to  spend  intelli 
gently.  But  when  the  huge  pile  should  thrill  with  life 
at  the  touch  of  the  deft  fingers  of  the  master  who  could 
grasp  its  stunning  force  in  human  affairs,  who  could 
tell  its  possiblities? 

He  folded  his  arms  and  stood  there  lost  in  thought. 
Through  his  imagination  the  old  stories  of  the  world's 
treasure-caves  came  trooping.  The  Lamp  of  Aladdin 
and  all  the  dreams  of  the  Arabian  Nights  seemed  tame 
and  passive  before  the  incredible  fact  on  which  he 
gazed.  Back  of  that  marvellous  vision  he  saw  the 
figure  of  a  bare-footed  boy  of  the  poor  white  trash  of 
the  South  rising  to  a  world  empire.  The  very  mention 
of  his  name  now  sent  a  thrill  of  hate,  of  envy  or  of 


194  The  Root  of  Evil 

admiration  to  the  hearts  of  millions.  Surely  the  age 
of  the  warrior,  the  priest,  and  the  law-giver  had  passed. 
The  age  of  materialism  had  dawned,  and  the  new 
age  knew  but  one  God,  whose  temple  was  the  market 
place. 

A  wave  of  bitterness  swept  his  spirit,  and  for  the  first 
time  he  questioned  for  the  briefest  moment  whether 
he  had  missed  the  way  in  life.  Only  for  a  moment,  and 
then  the  feeling  passed,  and  in  its  place  slowly  rose  a 
sense  of  angry  resentment  against  Bivens  and  all  his 
tribe.  The  audacity  and  assurance  with  which  he  was 
presenting  the  offer  of  a  change  in  the  whole  bent  of  his 
character  he  felt  to  be  a  personal  insult.  And  yet  he 
knew  the  deep,  underlying,  affectionate  loyalty  in  the 
man's  heart  on  which  the  act  was  based.  He  couldn't 
resent  it.  But  when  the  little  swarthy  figure  sudden 
ly  appeared  in  the  doorway,  his  soul  was  in  arms  for  the 
struggle  he  knew  coming. 

"Well,  you  found  I've  not  made  a  mistake?" 

"No.  To  put  it  mildly,  you  will  not  be  forced  to 
apply  to  the  Charity  Bureau  for  any  outside  help  this 
year.  Of  course  there's  no  telling  what  may  happen 
if  hard  times  strike  you. " 

"But  at  present  I  ought  to  be  able  to  pay  my  debts 
and  still  have  enough  to  shuffle  along  somehow?  " 

"I  think  so.  In  fact  I'll  make  oath  to  that  effect  if 
you  need  it  to  stem  the  present  tide  of  adversity. " 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you,  Jim,  that  I 
went  into  the  recent  panic  with  only  twenty-five  mil 
lions.  You  have  counted  ninety  there  without  looking 
over  the  trash  on  that  side  table.  As  I  told  you  a  while 
ago,  I've  just  begun.  I've  schemes  on  foot  that  circle 
the  globe.  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  have  you  with  me. 
We  won't  discuss  terms  now  —  that's  a  mere  detail  - 
the  thing  is  for  us  to  get  at  the  differences  between 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  195 

us.  Now  say  the  meanest  and  hardest  things  you  can 
think.  I  understand. " 

Stuart  dropped  into  a  seat  beneath  the  pile  of  millions 
and  a  frown  darkened  his  face. 

"My  opinions,  Cal,  of  your  business  methods  are 
known  to  everyone." 

"Yes  I  know  you  started  life  with  a  theory,  but 
sooner  or  later,  Jim,  you  can't  resist  the  pressure  in 
this  town.  You  started  with  ideals  you  can't  realize. 
You  have  grown  older  and  wiser  and  don't  dream  so 
much.  One  by  one  illusions  fade.  One  by  one  the  men 
who  set  out  to  serve  the  common  people  always  come 
over  to  the  side  of  the  mighty.  Why?  Because  we 
alone  recognize  their  worth  and  reward  them  accord- 
ingly." 

Stuart  looked  at  Bivens  thoughtfully  and  then  at 
the  millions  heaped  on  the  dark  blood-red  table,  while 
he  slowly  said: 

"They  say,  Cal,  that  the  warriors  of  the  Dakota  In 
dians  used  to  eat  the  heart  of  a  fallen  foe  to  increase 
their  courage  and  the  New  Zealander  swallowed  whole 
the  eyes  of  his  enemy  that  he  might  see  further.  Your 
business  methods  haven't  made  much  progress  beyond 
this  stage,  so  far  as  I  can  see. " 

Bivens  stroked  his  silken  beard  with  a  nervous  puz 
zled  movement,  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"Come  here,  Jim." 

He  gazed  for  a  moment  over  the  city  and  slowly 
said : 

"Look  over  this  sea  of  buildings  rising  like  waves  of 
the  ocean  and  stretching  away  until  its  lines  are  lost 
in  the  clouds.  The  swarming  thousands  who  live  in 
them,  what  is  their  trade?  Their  business  is  by  hook 
or  crook,  to  get  hold  of  the  money  simple-minded  people 
have  produced  in  other  sections  of  the  world.  They 


196  The  Root  of  Evil 

were  bcrn  to  be  the  kings  and  rulers  of  ignorant  masses. 
This  kingship  of  mind  over  matter  may  be  a  hard  law 
but  it  is  the  law.  There's  no  other  meaning  to  those 
great  buildings  whose  argus  eyes  gleam  to-night  in  the 
shadows  among  the  stars.  I  am  simply  doing  what 
every  man  in  New  York  or  the  world  would  do  if  he  had 
the  chance,  the  brains  and  the  daring. " 

"Not  every  man,  Cal,"  was  the  steady  answer. 
"  There  are  men  in  New  York  who  would  cut  their 
right  arm  off  rather  than  do  such  things. " 

"Show  me  one  that  would  cut  his  right  arm  off 
rather  than  do  them  and  I'll  show  you  ten  thousand 
who  would  cut  off  both  arms  and  spare  a  leg  to  win  the 
half  of  my  success.  I'm  simply  doing  better  than  they 
can  what  they'd  give  their  bodies  and  souls  to  do. 
That's  why  I'm  above  the  law  and  people  envy  and 
worship  me.  If  I  am  a  devil,  I  am  their  creation.  That's 
why  I  wield  a  power  kings  never  knew.  That's  why  I 
need  regard  no  restraint  of  culture,  experience,  pride, 
class  or  rank.  I  am  the  product  of  the  spirit  of  the 
age  —  the  envy  and  despair  of  them  all.  I  might  be 
torn  limb  from  limb  by  the  black,  creeping  thing  on  the 
pavements  below,  that  clutched  at  your  throat  that  day, 
but  for  the  fact  that  they  all  love  money  and  lust  after 
it  with  abject  longing. 

"The  people  will  only  get  justice  when  they  learn 
to  love  justice.  Because  they  love  privilege  and  lust 
after  money  they  are  plundered  by  men  who  are  their 
superiors  in  intelligence.  If  I  am  a  wolf  it's  because 
so  many  lambs  are  always  bleating  at  my  heels  that  I 
have  to  eat  them  to  save  my  self-respect.  People  will 
continue  to  starve  so  long  as  they  are  content  with  a 
circus  and  a  bread-line.  And  such  people  ought  to 
starve.  They  get  what  they  deserve.  The  government 
is  trying  to  rescue  four  thousand  men  who  are  stranded 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  197 

and  starving  in  Alaska.  Are  they  paupers?  No, 
just  average  business  men  who  are  mad  for  money, 
who  dare  frozen  seas  or  blazing  deserts,  death  or  hell 
to  win  it.  That's  why  my  power  is  power.  This 
passion  for  money,  money  for  its  own  sake,  right  or 
wrong,  is  the  motive  power  of  the  modern  world.  That's 
why  I  laugh  at  my  critics  and  sneer  at  threats.  I  am 
secure  because  I've  built  my  career  on  the  biggest 
fact  of  the  century.  You'd  as  well  have  common  sense 
and  accept  the  world  as  it  is.  As  you've  just  said, 
we've  only  a  little  while  to  live  in  it  anyhow. " 

"But  I  want  to  really  live,"  Stuart  broke  in,  "not 
merely  exist.  You  don't  live.  You  are  engaged  in  an 
endless  fight,  desperate,  cruel,  mercenary — for  what? 
The  superfluous,  ambitions  you  never  exploit,  privi 
leges  you  don't  know  how  to  use,  caprices  without  the 
genius  to  express  them,  pleasures  when  you  don't  know 
how  to  play.  Why?" 

"The  game  man,  the  game!" 

"  Game?  what  game?  To  crush  and  kill  for  the  mere 
sake  of  doing  it,  as  a  sheep-killing  dog  strangles  fifty 
lambs  in  a  night  for  the  fun  of  hearing  them  bleat? 
Isn't  there  a  bigger  game?  a  game  of  mutual  joys  and 
hopes,  of  sunlight  and  laughter?" 

"But,  Jim,"  the  little  financier  protested,  "I  don't 
make  men  as  they  are,  nor  did  I  make  conditions. " 

"Still  is  that  any  reason  why  a  man  shouldn't  take 
his  place  on  the  right  side  of  the  fight?  The  eternal 
struggle  is  always  on  between  Life  and  Death.  A  man's 
in  league  with  one  or  the  other.  Which  is  it?  You  are 
a  wrecker  and  not  a  builder." 

"But  is  that  true?"  Bivens  interrupted  eagerly. 
"I'm  organizing  the  industries  of  the  world.  I  have 
furthered  the  progress  of  humanity. " 

"Yes,  in  a  way  you  have.     And  if  the  price  of  goods 


198  The  Root  of  Evil 

continues  to  rise  for  another  ten  years  as  it  has  during 
the  past  ten  under  your  organizing  the  human  race  will 
be  compelled  to  make  still  further  progress.  They 
will  have  to  move  to  another  planet.  Nobody  but  a 
millionaire  can  live  on  this  one.  A  day  of  reckoning 
is  bound  to  come. " 

Bivens  laughed,  walked  back  to  the  window  and 
gazed  down  on  the  narrow  streets  below. 

"A  day  of  reckoning!"  he  exclaimed.  "Look  at 
those  crawling  lines  of  men,  Jim,  and  think  for  a  moment 
of  the  millions  like  them  on  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
each  one  fighting  tooth  and  nail  for  his  own  kennel  and 
the  bone  that  he  claims.  Think  of  the  centuries  of 
stupid  history  back  of  each  generation  of  those  crawling 
things  —  their  selfish  habits,  as  fixed  as  the  colour  of 
hair  and  eyes,  their  pride,  their  little  prejudices  of  race 
and  creed  —  and  talk  to  me  about  days  of  reckoning 
and  revolution!  Hurl  yourself  against  the  mighty 
system  of  business  that  has  slowly  built  itself  through 
the  centuries  out  of  such  material  and  you  simply  beat 
your  brains  out  against  a  granite  wall. " 

"Well,  I  see  something  entirely  different,"  Stuart 
answered,  "as  I  look  on  that  slowly  moving  line  of  men 
down  there.  To  me  they  symbolize  the  eternal,  the 
endless  stream  that  sweeps  through  time  to  whose 
life  a  century  is  but  a  moment.  You  think  that  you 
are  one  of  the  mighty.  By  the  signs  on  that  table  you 
are.  And  yet,  you  could  die  to-night  and  that  black 
stream  of  humanity  would  flow  along  that  narrow  street 
to-morrow  as  it  does  to-day  and  not  one  in  all  the  crowd 
would  pause  to  look  up  at  the  flag  at  half  mast  on  your 
building.  One  by  one  the  mighty  fall  and  are  forgotten 
and  yet  that  crowd  grows  denser,  its  feet  swifter,  and 
the  pressure  of  its  united  life  becomes  more  and  more 
resistless.  A  hundred  years  from  now  and  your  name 


The  Lamp  of  Aladdin  199 

will  have  vanished  from  human  memory.  A  million 
aire  dies  every  day.  Nobody  knows.  Nobody  cares. 
Is  such  a  life  at  its  best  worth  living?  And  yours  is 
never  at  its  best.  You  can't  eat  much.  You  don't 
sleep  well  and  you  can't  live  beyond  fifty-five. " 

Bivens's  dark  face  grew  suddenly  pale  and  his  slender 
fingers  touched  one  of  the  piles  of  gold. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Jim,  I'll  live  as  long  as  you. " 

"And  yet  you  turn  pale  when  I  speak  of  death." 

Bivens  suddenly  drew  his  watch  and  spoke  with 
quick  nervous  energy: 

"I  must  call  those  reporters  and  get  rid  of  them  as 
soon  as  possible. " 

He  gave  the  order,  and  in  a  few  moments  walked 
back  into  the  room  followed  by  the  newspaper  men, 
a  half-dozen  young  fellows  with  clean-cut,  eager  faces. 

Not  one  of  them  showed  a  pencil  or  a  note  book,  but 
not  a  feature  of  the  startling  exhibition  escaped  their 
intelligence.  Every  eye  flashed  with  piercing  light, 
every  nerve  quivered  with  sensitive  impressions.  Every 
sight,  sound  and  smell  wrote  its  story  on  their  imagi 
nation  —  the  odour  of  the  flowers  on  Bivens's  desk  in  the 
little  sitting  room,  the  picture  of  his  wife  beside  them, 
the  smell  of  the  leather  on  the  walls,  the  touch  of  their 
hands  on  the  silent  symbols  of  power  lying  in  yellow 
heaps  —  all  found  souls  that  throbbed  and  lived  and 
spoke  in  their  vivid  sensational  reports. 

They  looked  at  Bivens  with  peculiar  awe.  Stuart 
noted  with  a  smile  that  not  one  of  them  spoke  loudly 
in  the  presence  of  ninety  millions  of  dollars.  All 
whispered  except  a  blase  youngster  from  The  Evening 
Post.  He  dared  to  articulate  his  words  in  modulated 
tones.  He  seemed  to  regard  himself  as  a  sort  of  assist 
ant  high  priest  at  this  extraordinary  function.  The 
other  fellows  unconsciously  paid  the  tribute  of  whis- 


2oo  The  Root  of  Evil 

pered  awe  to  the  great  god  all  true  New  Yorkers 
worship. 

When  Bivens  led  them  out  at  last  and  returned  to 
the  room,  he  was  in  high  spirits. 

"Now,  Jim,"  he  began  hastily,  "if  you  have  said  all 
the  bad  things  you  can  possibly  think  about  me,  we'll 
get  down  to  business  and  I'll  present  the  big  proposi 
tion  you  can't  resist.  As  I  told  you  a  while  ago,  I've 
just  begun  to  make  money.  Come  into  the  next  room 
while  my  men  remove  the  evil  from  our  midst. " 

He  smiled  lovingly  at  his  treasures  as  if  in  apology  for 
his  momentary  levity. 


CHAPTER  XII 

TEMPTATION 

When  Stuart  had  seated  himself  on  a  luxurious 
leather-covered  chair  in  the  little  sitting-room  he  gazed 
into  the  flickering  fire  with  a  feeling  of  strange  excitement. 

He  could  hear  Bivens  giving  orders  to  his  employees 
about  the  removal  of  his  millions  to  the  vaults  below. 
It  would  take  hours  to  complete  the  task.  He  could 
hear  the  deep  vibrant  ring  of  the  gold,  as  the  men 
dumped  it  into  bags. 

As  he  listened  to  the  curious  sound  he  began  dimly 
to  realize  that  the  foundation  of  his  life  and  character 
were  being  undermined.  There  could  be  no  mistake 
about  it.  He  had  made  some  brave  talk  to  Bivens's 
face  as  l^e  stared  at  the  daring  display  of  his  money. 
He  couldn't  realize  it  then.  He  was  on  guard.  But 
now  that  he  was  alone  and  his  imagination  began  to 
paint  pictures  and  his  fancy  to  weave  visions,  he  saw 
the  beckoning  hand  of  Temptation  from  a  high  moun 
tain  wave  invitingly  toward  the  world  below,  and  the 
vision  was  beautiful. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  from  the  fire  and  they  rested  on  an 
exquisite  miniature  of  Nan  which  had  been  painted 
just  after  her  marriage.  The  artist  had  caught  the 
pose  of  her  magnificent  neck  and  head  in  an  inspired 
moment.  He  forgot  the  ten  black  years  of  loneliness 
and  struggle.  He  was  standing  before  her  again  in  all 
the  pride  and  strength  of  those  last  days  of  passionate 
longing  and  bitter  rebellion. 


202  The  Root  of  Evil 

F  His  heart  gave  a  throb  of  fierce  protest  against  the 
fate  that  had  robbed  him  of  the  one  thing  on  earth  he 
had  ever  really  desired.  He  tried  in  vain  to  separate  her 
from  the  struggle  of  character  and  principle  he  was 
fighting  with  Bivens.  In  spite  of  every  effort  his  imagi 
nation  persisted  in  painting  scenes  with  Nan  which 
must  come  inevitably  from  an  intimate  business  as 
sociation  with  her  husband.  The  very  idea  of  such 
treachery  roused  his  soul  to  fury,  but  always  the  picture 
returned  and  always  Nan's  smiling  face  came  to  beckon 
him  on  and  her  voice,  soft  and  full  of  tenderness,  called. 

When  Bivens  entered  he  found  his  tall  figure  bent 
low  in  the  chair  and  a  scowl  on  his  face. 

The  little  black  eyes  sparkled  with  the  certainty  of 
victory.  He  knew  the  poison  was  at  work  and  its  wine 
had  found  the  soul. 

"Now,  Jim,  down  to  business!" 

Stuart  looked  up  with  a  start,  recovered  himself  and 
replied  sharply: 

"All  right  —  fire  away. " 

Bivens  drew  a  chair  close,  rubbed  his  slender  hands 
and  began  in  quiet  tones: 

"You  can  see  that  I  have  the  cash.  What  I  must 
have  to  do  the  big  thing  I've  dreamed  is  a  right-hand 
man  whom  I  can  trust  with  my  money,  my  body,  and 
my  soul.  He  must  be  a  man  with  brains,  and  far- 
seeing  eyes.  A  man  who  will  fight  to  the  death  and  be 
loyal  with  every  breath,  who  will  work  day  and  night, 
a  man  of  iron  nerve,  iron  muscle  and  a  heart  of  steel. 
Come  in  with  me,  Jim,  for  all  you're  worth,  with  all 
your  brain  and  will  and  personality,  without  a  single 
reservation,  and  I'll  give  you  a  partnership  of  one-fourth 
interest  in  my  annual  income  and  I'll  guarantee  that  it 
shall  never  be  less  than  a  million  a  year. " 

Stuart  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stared  at  Bivens,  gasping! 


Temptation  203 

"You  mean  this  —  are  you  serious?" 

A  friendly  smile  lighted  the  dark  face  as  he  slowly 
replied : 

"  Certainly  I'm  serious.  And  my  proposition  is  a 
sound  one  from  a  business  point  of  view,  otherwise  I 
wouldn't  make  it,  though  you  are  the  only  man  in  the 
world  who  might  tempt  me  to  do  a  foolish  thing  for 
purely  sentimental  reasons.  Still  the  offer  is  not  made 
because  you  fought  the  battle  of  a  poor  white  boy  one 
day  down  South  a  long  time  ago.  I've  made  it  because 
I  know  you're  worth  it. " 

Stuart  shook  his  head. 

"I  expected  the  offer  of  a  generous  salary,  Cal,  but 
this  is  simply  stunning." 

"I  told  you  I'd  make  you  a  proposition  so  big  and 
generous  you  couldn't  get  away  from  it.  But  mind 
you,  I've  the  best  reasons  for  making  it.  We  are  entering 
the  last  phase  of  a  world-struggle  for  financial  suprem 
acy.  This  country  is  to  be  the  real  centre  of  modern 
power.  Out  in  that  harbour  lie  at  anchor  ships  that 
fly  the  flags  of  every  nation,  but  they  are  all  carrying 
our  goods  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  balance  of 
trade  with  Europe  alone  is  more  than  a  million  a  day 
in  our  favour.  We  are  producing  gold  at  the  rate  of 
a  million  and  a  half  a  week  and  we  keep  it.  With  our 
untold  resources,  our  inexhaustible  supplies  of  coal  and 
metal,  with  the  most  industrious,  intelligent  and  pro 
gressive  working  men  labouring  under  the  best  condi 
tions  and  with  the  most  efficient  tools  ever  known  in 
human  history,  we  must  become  and  will  become 
quickly  the  economic  masters  of  the  world.  When  that 
happens  somebody  is  going  to  be  master  here. " 

Bivens  rose  and  paced  back  and  forth  a  moment. 

"Somebody's  going  to  be  master  here,  Jim,"  he 
repeated,  "and  it's  not  going  to  be  a  mob,  the  stupid, 


204  The  Root  of  Evil 

howling,  slobbering  thing  that  clutched  at  your  throat 
that  day  in  front  of  my  bank. " 

"No." 

"Nor  will  it  be  a  clumsy  soulless  corporation  called 
a  " Trust,"  either,  a  thing  that  can  be  badgered  and 
hounded  by  every  hungry  thieving  politician  who  gets 
into  office.  The  coming  master  of  masters,  the  king 
-*  of  kings  will  be  a  man  —  a  man  on  whose  imperial  word 
will  hang  the  fate  of  empires. " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Stuart  asked  with  quick 
emphasis. 

"Just  what  I  said.  The  seat  of  this  nation's  govern 
ment  is  not  at  Washington,  D.  C.  It's  a  silly  idea.  WTe 
have  some  very  fine  buildings  there  and  a  crowd  of  fools 
rattle  around  in  the  Capitol  and  make  a  lot  of  noise. 
But  I  met  the  King  of  America  the  other  day  in  this 
panic.  He  sent  for  me.  You  can  bet  I  answered  the 
call.  He  made  me  eat  dirt  and  swear  that  I  liked  the 
taste  of  it.  But  I'll  get  even  with  him  yet ! " 

Two  livid  spots  suddenly  appeared  on  the  swarthy 
cheeks  and  he  choked  into  silence. 

"There  was  more  truth  than  romance  in  the  story 
that  I  deserted  my  associates  in  that  panic,  Jim.  I  had 
to  do  it.  I  was  given  my  choice.  I  could  do  it  or  walk 
the  plank.  Not  one  of  the  men  I  deserted  in  that  pool 
would  have  hesitated  a  moment  to  do  exactly  what  I 
did  under  the  same  conditions;  but,  Jim,  it  hurt.  Some 
where  down  deep  there's  something  that  makes  me  hold 
fast  to  a  man  who  stands  with  me.  And  the  one  am 
bition  of  my  life  now  is  to  crush  the  man  who  forced  me 
to  lick  his  feet  that  day,  and  I'll  do  it  yet!" 

Again  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  and  Stuart  watched 
his  convulsed  features  with  increasing  fascination. 

"The  world  is  waiting,"  he  continued,  "for  its  real 
master  —  not  a  multi-millionaire,  but  the  coming 


Temptation  205 

billionaire.  The  rulers  of  the  old  world  fawn  on  our 
financiers  and  envy  their  power.  But  the  king  of  kings 
is  yet  to  come.  If  I  had  been  ready  in  this  panic  with 
the  capital  I  have  to-day  I  could  have  made  a  billion. 
With  the  power  and  experience  I  now  have  and  one  such 
man  as  you  on  whom  I  can  depend  I'd  double  my  for 
tune  every  year.  That  means  that  in  five  years  I  will 
be  a  billionaire,  and  only  forty-two. 

"Think  for  a  minute  what  that  means  if  you  can! 
A  billion  dollars  will  double  itself  in  seven  years.  At 
forty- two  I'd  be  worth  a  billion.  At  forty-nine  I'd 
have  two  billions.  At  fifty-eight  I'd  be  worth  four 
billions  —  and  just  old  enough  to  really  begin  to  do 
things.  That  is  on  the  supposition  that  my  money 
only  increases  by  its  banking  power,  which  is  the 
smallest  way  to  look  at  it.  In  seven  years  I'd  start  with 
a  billion  preparing  for  the  grand  coup  of  the  next  panic. 
It  always  comes  within  a  decade.  The  man  who  en 
ters  a  panic  with  one  billion  dollars  in  cash  if  he  had  the 
nerve,  the  daring,  and  the  brains  can  emerge  with 
fifty! 

"  Give  me  one  billion  answerable  to  my  will  alone  and 
I  can  rule  this  nation.  Give  me  four  billions  and  no 
king  or  emperor,  president  or  parliament  on  this  globe 
will  dare  to  make  peace  or  war  without  consulting  me. 
The  power  which  Caesar  or  Napoleon  wielded  will  be 
child's  play  to  the  power  within  my  grasp.  When 
such  a  man  lives  the  world  will  know  for  the  first  time  in 
history  the  might  of  a  real  master. 

"How  long  could  this  republic  stand  if  such  a  man 
should  see  fit  to  change  its  form?  Even  now  our 
petty  millionaires  buy  courts  and  legislatures,  and  the 
control  of  great  cities.  But  the  new  king  would  know 
no  limitations  to  this  power.  He  would  make  the  laws, 
shape  ard  dictate  public  opinion,  subsidize  the  church 


206  The  Root  of  Evil 

and  the  schools,  direct  the  courts,  control  all  industries, 
direct  all  banks,  fix  the  wages  of  labour,  the  prices  of 
all  goods,  regulate  supply  and  demand  and  absorb  all 
profits. 

"If  Europe  now  cringes  at  the  feet  of  our  present 
millionaire-king  of  Wall  Street,  emperors  beg  his  favour 
and  princes  wait  at  his  door,  what  could  the  real  ruler 
of  the  world  do  with  these  puppets  when  he  comes  into 
his  kingdom?" 

Bivens's  voice  again  sank  into  low  passionate  whis 
pers,  while  his  black  eyes  again  became  two  points  of 
fierce  gleaming  light. 

Stuart  watched  him  with  amazement  at  the  revela 
tion  of  volcanic  passions  which  slumbered  beneath  his 
pigmy  form.  For  the  moment,  too,  he  was  swept  from 
his  feet  by  the  rush  of  emotion.  And  again  his  eye 
rested  on  the  smiling  face  of  Nan  looking  at  him  from  the 
ivory  miniature  on  the  mantel. 

When  the  crucial  moment  came  for  his  manhood  to 
answer,  the  speech  of  brave  denunciation  died  on  his 
lips.  The  vision  was  too  wonderful,  the  heights  to 
which  he  had  been  invited  too  high  and  thrilling  to  be 
dismissed  with  words.  Deep  down  in  every  strong 
man's  soul  is  the  consciousness  of  his  own  strength,  the 
certainty  that  if  put  to  the  test  he  is  the  equal  of  any 
other  man  who  walks  the  earth ;  that  if  he  were  suddenly 
thrust  into  the  seat  of  the  mighty  he  could  play  their 
roles  with  credit  if  not  with  glory.  At  the  door  of  this 
yellow  empire,  mightier  than  kings  in  purple  rule,  his 
conscience  halted,  hesitated  and  stammered.  He 
found  himself,  in  spite  of  honour  and  character,  for 
the  moment  measuring  himself  with  Bivens  in  the 
struggle  for  supremacy  which  would  sooner  or  later 
come  between  them  if  he  should  enter  such  an  alli 
ance. 


Temptation  207 

Bivens  saw  his  hesitation  and  hastened  to  add  in 
generous  tones: 

"You  needn't  rush  your  decision,  Jim.  Take  your 
time.  Think  it  over  from  every  point  of  view.  You're 
bound  to  accept  in  the  end." 

Stuart  flushed  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  drew  it 
nervously  across  his  forehead. 

"It's  no  use  in  my  quibbling,  Cal,  your  offer  is  a 
stirring  one.  It  tempts  me  immensely.  I  feel  the  call 
of  the  old  blood-struggle  in  me,  the  inheritance  of  cen 
turies  of  the  lust  of  battle,  and  I'm  beginning  to  see 
now  that  the  world's  battles  are  no  longer  fought  with 
sword  and  gun.  During  the  past  months  of  excitement 
I've  felt  it  too  —  the  rush  of  this  blood-call  to  my  heart. 
I've  wanted  to  ride  men  down  in  the  streets  and  carry 
their  heads  on  a  pike. " 

"  Take  your  time,  Jim, "  Bivens  broke  in,  rising. 
"'There's  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men  which,  taken  at 
its  flood' — you  know  the  rest.  But  this  tide  will  not 
ebb  out  for  you  to-night.  I'm  going  to  let  it  flow  about 
you  for  days  and  weeks  and  months  if  need  be.  In  the 
meantime  I've  got  to  see  more  of  you.  Nan  wants  it 
and  I  want  it.  You  must  come  up  to  our  house  and 
entertainments.  The  politicians  have  turned  you  down 
but  the  big  men  who  count  are  afraid  of  you  and  they'll 
go  out  of  their  way  to  meet  you.  Come  up  to  dinner 
with  us  to-night.  I  want  you  to  make  my  home  your 
home  whether  you  accept  my  offer  or  not. " 

Stuart  hesitated. 

"Really,  Cal,  I  oughtn't  to  go  to-night." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well  you  see,  old  man,  I'm  afraid  I've  let  you  take 
too  much  for  granted.  I've  got  to  fight  this  thing  out 
alone.  It's  the  biggest  thing  physically  and  morally  I  've 
ever  been  up  against.  I've  got  to  be  alone  for  awhile." 


208  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Oh,  nonsense,  be  alone  as  much  as  you  like 
later.  Nan  insisted  on  my  bringing  you  to-night,  and 
you've  got  to  come,  to  save  me  from  trouble  if  noth 
ing  else.  I've  an  engagement  down  town  after  dinner. 
You  and  Nan  can  talk  over  old  times.  I  promise  you 
faithfully  that  not  a  word  of  business  shall  be  spoken. " 

Stuart  felt  the  foundations  of  life  slipping  beneath  his 
feet  and  yet  he  couldn't  keep  back  the  answer: 

"All  right,  I'll  come." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  FORBIDDEN  LAND 

As  Stuart  dressed  for  the  dinner  he  thought  of  Harriet 
with  a  pang.  He  had  promised  her  to  try  to  keep  out 
of  danger.  But  could  she  know  or  understand  the 
struggle  through  which  he  was  passing!  He  wondered 
vaguely  why  he  had  seen  so  little  of  her  lately.  She 
had  become  more  and  more  absorbed  in  her  music  and 
her  manner  had  grown  shy  and  embarrassed.  Yet,  when 
ever  he  had  resented  it  and  stopped  to  lounge  and  chat 
and  draw  her  out,  she  was  always  her  old  sweet  self. 

The  doctor,  too,  had  avoided  him  of  late  and  he  noticed 
that  his  clothes  had  begun  to  look  shabby.  He  hurried 
down  stairs,  determined  to  see  him  a  moment  before 
leaving. 

He  caught  him  hurrying  from  the  house  and  laid  his 
hand  affectionately  on  his  arm. 

"  These  are  tough  times,  Doctor,  and  if  you  need  any 
help  you  must  let  me  know. " 

The  older  man's  voice  trembled  as  he  replied: 

"Thank  you,  my  boy,  that's  a  very  unusual  speech 
to  hear  these  days.  It  renews  my  faith  in  the  world. " 

" You're  not  in  trouble?" 

The  doctor  lifted  his  head  gently. 

"My  troubles  are  so  much  lighter  than  those  of  the 
people  I  know,  I  can't  think  of  them.  So  many  of  my 
friends  and  patients  have  given  up  in  this  panic.  So 
many  have  died  for  the  lack  of  bread.  I'll  let  you  know 
if  I'm  in  trouble  myself. " 

209 


210  The  Root  of  Evil 

He  paused  and  pressed  Stuart's  hand. 

"I'm  glad  you  asked  me.  The  sun  will  shine  brighter 
to-day.  I  must  hurry. " 

With  a  swing  of  his  stalwart  form  and  a  generous 
wave  of  his  hand  he  was  gone. 

When  Stuart  reached  the  Drive  he  alighted  and 
walked  slowly  toward  the  Bivens  palace.  He  had  never 
been  there  before.  He  had  always  avoided  the  spot. 
He  smiled  now  at  the  childishness  of  his  attitude  toward 
Nan.  It  seemed  incredible  that  a  sane  man  should 
taboo  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  the  city,  merely 
because  a  woman  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  who  once 
professed  her  love  to  him. 

He  paused  in  front  of  the  block  on  which  the  mil 
lionaire's  house  stood,  amazed  at  the  perfection  of  its 
detail,  and  above  all  amazed  at  the  impression  of  home 
like  comfort  and  friendly  hospitality  which  it  gave. 
He  had  expected  an  imposing  front,  whose  effects 
would  impress  and  stun.  He  had  not  conceived  the 
possibility  of  such  a  huge  palace,  set  so  commandingly 
in  the  centre  of  a  block  amid  trees  and  shrubbery  and 
iron  picket  fence,  that  it  would  suggest  comfort  and 
happiness.  Yet  the  impression  was  unmistakable. 
The  friendly  lights  seemed  to  reprove  him  for  a  long  and 
foolish  absence. 

The  full  moon  had  just  risen  and  flooded  the  Drive 
and  park  and  river  with  silvery  mystery.  He  studied 
the  effects  of  the  building  with  wonder  and  admiration. 
Evidently  Bivens  had  given  his  architects  a  free  hand 
and  they  had  wrought  a  poem  in  marble.  The  fact  was 
they  had  an  easy  task  to  persuade  him.  He  had  never 
boasted  his  culture  or  taste  or  ancestry.  He  knew  and 
keenly  felt  the  humility  of  his  early  origin  and  his  one 
terror  when  he  became  rich  was  that  he  might  be  crude 
and  ridiculous  before  others.  WTien  he  found  that  his 


The  Forbidden  Land  211 

architects  were  men  of  genius  he  submitted  to  their 
guidance  without  a  word. 

So  fascinated  was  Stuart  with  the  beauty  and  per 
fection  of  the  great  house  he  walked  around  the  block 
before  entering,  viewing  it  from  every  angle  —  always 
to  find  some  new  line  shimmering  in  the  moonlight  that 
held  his  eye  and  charmed  his  fancy. 

What  a  strange  thing,  this  medieval  palace,  standing 
in  stately  beauty  in  the  midst  of  the  hideous,  ugly 
uniformity  of  the  most  modern,  unromantic  and  materi 
alistic  city  of  the  world ! 

What  was  its  meaning? 

And  the  tall  iron  fence  with  the  bristling  spikes  to 
keep  out  the  mob,  and  that  queer  underground  entrance 
on  the  side.  These  feudal  minarets,  battlements  and 
frowning  black  iron  pikes,  were  they  symbolic  of  a  re 
vival  of  the  feudal  spirit  of  the  Middle  Ages?  Or  were 
they  merely  the  day-dreams  of  an  artist  with  no  social 
meaning  beyond  the  vagaries  of  his  fancy? 

Had  a  new  master  of  the  world  really  been  born? 
And  had  he  begun  to  build  his  castles  to  stun  and  over 
awe  the  rabbles  that  pass  his  door?  Or  was  this  strange 
being  as  yet  neither  fish  nor  fowl,  neither  beast  nor 
human,  merely  a  fungous  growth  on  the  diseased  tissue 
of  the  modern  world?  Who  could  tell?  Surely  his 
like  had  never  been  seen  in  the  history  of  man  —  this 
modern  money-maniac,  this  strange  creature  of  iron 
muscles,  always  hurrying,  daring,  scheming,  plotting, 
with  never  a  moment's  relaxation,  day  or  night,  eating 
or  drinking,  working  or  sleeping,  in  his  office  or  in  his 
home,  going  or  coming  in  his  yacht  with  wireless  tower, 
his  private  car  with  telegraph  office,  his  secretary  always 
by  his  side,  a  telephone  always  at  his  bed,  with  no  time 
to  live,  no  time  to  love,  with  only  time  to  fight  and  kill 
and  pile  the  spoils  of  war  on  high! 


212  The  Root   of  Evil 

p 

The  old  baron  who  lived  beneath  those  graceful 
minarets  and  walked  behind  these  pikes  felt  his  high 
responsibilities.  He  was  the  champion  of  his  people 
against  their  enemies.  He  was  their  protector  while 
he  claimed  to  be  their  lord.  But  this  strange  new 
creature,  who  had  begun  to  masquerade  in  his  ancient 
armour  and  steal  his  crests,  who  is  he?  Certainly  he 
acknowledges  no  obligations  to  any  people. 

Stuart  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  the  passing  of 
a  powerfully  built  man  who  had  been  following  him  since 
he  had  first  approached  the  Bivens  palace.  The  keen 
eyes  searched  his  face  with  piercing  gaze  and  the  lawyer 
smiled  as  he  recognized  in  the  stranger  one  of  the  pri 
vate  guards  of  which  the  modern  masters  of  the  world 
have  felt  the  need.  In  the  Middle  Ages  he  stood  watch 
on  the  ramparts  of  the  baron's  castle  —  now  he  walks 
the  block  and  lifts  his  finger  to  suspicious  persons. 
In  the  old  days  he  wore  his  armour  on  the  outside  and 
carried  a  spear.  Now  he  wears  a  hidden  coat  of 
mail  and  carries  concealed  two  automatic  guns. 

The  guard  smiled  in  friendly  recognition  and  Stuart 
knew  that  he  was  expected  by  the  servants  of  the  great 
man. 

The  sentinel  was  an  Italian.  Bivens,  the  son  of  a 
poor  white  man  of  the  South,  whom  even  negroes  once 
pitied,  had  recruited  his  palace  guard  from  the  children 
of  the  Caesars.  Could  any  fact  more  loudly  proclaim 
the  passing  of  the  era  of  political  fictions  and  the  dawn 
of  the  age  of  materialism,  the  passing  of  the  king  who 
ruled  by  divine  right  and  the  coming  of  the  reign  of 
the  huckster? 

Stuart  was  shown  into  the  drawing  room  by  a  pow 
dered  flunky  whose  costume  was  designed  by  one  of  the 
court  tailors  of  Europe.  While  awaiting  the  arrival  of 
the  mistress  of  the  house  he  looked  about  the  room  with 


The  Forbidden  Land  213 

increasing  amazement.  He  had  expected  to  find  that 
the  authority  of  the  artist-architect  would  yield  at 
the  door  to  the  personal  whims  of  the  owner.  He 
expected  to  find  here  a  vulgar  and  extravagant  taste, 
a  vernal  art  without  mind  or  genius.  Instead  he  found 
the  perfection  of  grace,  elegance,  quiet  richness  and 
surprising  beauty,  everywhere  the  overwhelming  im 
pression  of  conscious  dignity  and  exhaustless  reserve 
power. 

He  rubbed  his  eyes  to  see  if  he  were  dreaming,  en 
tranced  with  his  surroundings.  In  spite  of  the  tragedy 
it  all  meant  to  his  own  life  he  drank  in  its  effects  as  a  poet 
long  exiled  from  his  native  land  drinks  in  the  beauty 
and  glory  of  his  home-coming.  Somewhere  in  this  world 
or  another  in  the  mists  of  eternity  his  soul  had  seen  this 
before.  The  whole  conception  of  the  thing  was  noble 
and  it  had  been  nobly  and  beautifully  executed.  The 
artist  who  wrought  his  vision  thus  in  matter  had  sung 
for  joy  in  its  creation  and  the  joyous  beat  of  his  heart 
throbbed  in  the  rhythm  of  every  exquisite  line. 

He  began  to  realize  for  the  first  time  the  triumph  of 
the  woman  who  had  bartered  him  for  gold.  His  eye 
rested  on  a  life-size  portrait  of  Nan  done  by  the  fore 
most  artist  of  Europe.  It  filled  the  entire  space  above 
the  great  mantel  reaching  to  the  ceiling  and  so  skilfully 
had  it  been  set  in  the  massive  panel  one  seemed  to 
be  looking  through  an  opening  into  another  room  — 
the  figure  was  not  a  picture  but  the  living  woman  about 
to  extend  her  hand  in  friendly  greeting  to  her  guests. 

The  artist  had  caught  the  secret  of  her  character  and 
expressed  it  with  genius  in  the  poise  of  the  superb  form, 
the  incarnation  of  sensuous  soulless  beauty  dominated 
by  keen  intelligence. 

This  portrait  on  which  he  stood  gazing  as  if  in  a  spell 
was  evidently  painted  the  second  year  of  their  marriage. 


214  The  Root  of  Evil 

He  remembered  now  her  diary  had  given  an  account 
of  it  when  the  painter  came  over  from  the  Continent 
to  execute  the  commission.  He  tried  to  recall  her 
appearance  the  day  of  the  assault.  The  impression 
was  too  blurred  by  excitement  to  have  much  meaning. 
He  wondered  if  she  really  showed  the  ten  years  added 
to  her  age.  At  least  he  knew  that  she  had  not  been 
happy.  There  was  some  consolation  in  that.  Her 
ceaseless  efforts  to  win  back  his  friendship  had  left  no 
room  for  doubt.  He  sank  deep  into  the  great  chair 
and  silently  waited  her  coming. 

When  he  suddenly  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress  in 
the  hall  his  heart  began  to  pound.  He  rose  with  a 
movement  of  nervous  anger.  His  boasted  self-control 
was  a  myth,  after  all. 

When  Nan's  radiant  figure  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
her  bare  arm  extended,  her  lips  parted  in  a  tender 
smile,  Stuart  knew  that  his  face  was  red.  The  fact 
that  he  knew  it  increased  his  confusion  until  the  whole 
room  became  a  blur.  His  feet  refused  to  move,  and  he 
stood  staring  at  the  approaching  vision  as  if  in  a 
trance. 

Her  hand  touched  his.  The  shock  was  sobering;  he 
remembered  himself  and  smiled. 

"What  a  long,  long  time,  Jim!" 

"  A  thousand  years  —  I  think,  Nan, "  he  stammered. 

"Nine  hundred  to  be  exact,  sir,  but  better  late  than 
never.  I  began  to  think  your  stubbornness  would 
postpone  this  call  until  the  next  world. " 

"And  we  may  not  land  at  the  same  place  on  the 
other  side?" 

"A  compliment  or  an  insult?" 

"I  don't  know,  do  you?" 

He  was  laughing  quietly  now,  his  nerves  stronger  by 
the  tension  of  the  challenge  of  her  evident  gaiety. 


The  Forbidden  Land  215 

She  smiled  a  gracious  forgiveness  of  his  dubious 
answer. 

"Mr.  Bivens  was  detained  down  town  on  business. 
I  am  awfully  sorry  he's  not  here  to  join  in  my  welcome. " 

"Well,  I'm  not." 

He  was  looking  steadily  at  her  with  curious  concen 
tration. 

She  answered  with  a  flash  from  her  dark  eyes  and 
critically  looked  him  over. 

"  Well?  "he  asked. 

"I'm  awfully  disappointed." 

"Why?" 

"My  vanity  is  hurt.  I  expected  to  find  you,  after 
nine  years,  with  deep  lines  of  suffering  written  on  your 
face.  You  are  better  looking  than  ever.  The  few 
gray  hairs  about  your  temples  are  extremely  becoming. 
Your  honours  have  given  you  a  new  repose,  a  dignity 
and  reserve  power  I  couldn't  conceive  when  I  saw  you 
battered  by  that  mob. " 

"Allow  me  to  return  the  compliment  by  saying  that 
you  are  even  a  more  startling  disappointment  to  me. 
I  was  sure  that  I  should  find  you  broken"." 

"And  you  don't?" 

Stuart  smiled. 

"I'd  as  well  confess  it  frankly.  You  are  far  more 
beautiful  than  ever." 

The  woman  softly  laughed. 

"You  see  no  change?" 

"The  only  changes  I  see  merely  add  to  your  power: 
the  worldly  wisdom  which  marriage  writes  on  every 
woman's  face,  a  new  strength,  a  warmth  and  fascination 
and  a  conscious  joy  at  which  I  wonder  and  rage. " 

"Why  wonder  and  rage?" 

She  drew  him  gently  to  a  seat  by  her  side,  leaned 
forward  and  gazed  smilingly  at  him. 


216  The  Root  of  Evil 

Stuart  was  silent  a  moment  and  turned  suddenly  on 
her. 

"Because  Nan,  when  I  look  into  your  face  to-night 
and  see  its  joy,  I  can't  help  thinking  such  happiness 
is  a  crime.  I  saw  joy  like  that  once  on  the  face  of  an 
Italian  I  defended  and  acquitted  of  murder.  I  believed 
him  innocent  but  when  he  was  free  he  confessed  to  me 
his  guilt,  confessed  with  such  joy  that  I  sprang  on  him 
and  choked  him  into  silence. " 

"And  you  think  of  me  as  a  murderess,  Jim?  " 

"No,  no,  my  dear  little  playmate,  but  when  I  see  you 
to-night  in  all  this  splendour  so  insolently  happy " 

Nan  sprang  to  her  feet  laughing. 

"You  are  delicious  to-night,  Jim,  and  I'm  so  glad 
you  are  here.  Come  into  the  art  gallery.  It  will 
take  you  days  to  see  it;  we'll  just  peep  in  to-night. " 

He  followed  her  into  a  stately  room  packed  with 
masterpieces  of  art;  gleaming  marbles  and  sombre 
bronze  in  groups  of  bewildering  beauty,  with  every 
inch  of  wall-space  crowded  with  canvases  in  massive 
gold  frames  glowing  with  the  soft  radiance  of  concealed 
electric  lights. 

Stuart  gazed  a  moment  in  rapture. 

"You  must  spend  days  here,  Jim.  Now  honestly, 
with  all  your  high-browed  ideals,  wouldn't  you  like  to 
own  this?  " 

"I  wouldn't  dare." 

"Dare?" 

"No.     Not  if  I  had  the  wealth  of  Croesus. " 

"Why  not?" 

"It's  a  crime  to  rob  the  world  of  these  masterpieces 
of  genius.  They  should  be  the  free  inheritance  and 
inspiration  of  all  the  children  of  men.  The  humblest 
child  of  the  street  should  own  them  because  he  is  human. 
The  man  who  has  the  power  to  buy  them,  of  all  men, 


The  Forbidden  Land  217 

should  give  to  the  people  whose  lives  and  toil  gave  him 
his  power." 

Nan  gazed  at  Stuart  in  vague  bewilderment  and  then 
a  mischievous  smile  crept  into  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"  You're  trying  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes,  but  I  can 
tell  you  what  you  are  really  thinking.  Would  you  like 
to  hear?" 

" Very  much." 

"You  are  really  wondering  why  the  wicked  prosper?" 

The  man  remained  silent  while  a  look  of  deep 
seriousness  overspread  his  face. 

" Confess! "  Nan  insisted.     " Am  I  not  right? " 

"Absolutely  wrong,"  he  replied  slowly.  "Why  the 
wicked  prosper  has  never  worried  me  in  the  least.  The 
first  big  religious  idea  I  ever  got  hold  of  was  that  this 
is  the  best  possible  world  God  could  have  created  — 
because  it's  free.  Man  must  choose,  otherwise  his 
deeds  have  no  meaning.  A  deed  of  mine  is  good  merely 
because  I  have  the  power  to  do  its  opposite  if  I  choose. 
In  this  free  world  step  by  step  I  can  rise  or  fall  through 
suffering  and  choosing. " 

"Oh,  Jim,"  Nan  broke  in  softly,  "I've  made  you 
suffer  horribly.  You  have  the  right  to  be  hard  and 
bitter." 

"But  I'm  not,  Nan,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "I've 
been  made  generous  and  warm  and  tender  by  dis 
appointment.  Through  the  gates  of  pain  I've  entered 
into  fellowship  with  my  fellow-men,  the  humblest  and 
the  greatest.  This  sense  of  kinship  has  given  me  a 
larger  vision.  I've  learned  to  love  all  sentient  things. 
I've  made  friends  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men, 
the  rich,  the  poor,  the  good,  the  bad.  You  have 
taught  me  the  greatest  secret  of  life. " 

"I  wish  I  could  blot  out  the  memory  of  the  pain." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  can't.    Life  has  become  to  me 


218  The  Root  of  Evil 

a  thing  so  wonderful,  so  mysterious,  so  beautiful  —  just 
life  within  itself  —  I'd  live  it  all  over  again  if  I  could." 

"Every  moment  of  it? " 

"Every  moment  with  every  light  and  shadow.  It's 
glorious  to  live!" 

A  solemn  English  butler  entered  and  announced 
dinner. 

Seated  by  Nan's  side  alone  in  the  great  dining  room, 
while  servants  in  gorgeous  liveries  hurried  with  soft 
light  footfall  to  do  her  slightest  bidding,  Stuart  could 
scarcely  shake  off  the  impression  that  he  was  dreaming. 
Such  pictures  he  had  weaved  in  his  fancy  the  first  won 
derful  days  of  their  conscious  love-life.  But  it  seemed 
centuries  ago  now.  They  had  both  died  and  come  to 
life  again  in  a  new  mysterious  world,  a  world  in  which 
he  was  yet  a  stranger  and  Nan  at  home.  The  splen 
dours  of  the  stately  room  pleased  his  poetic  fancy  and  in 
spite  of  his  hostile  effort  he  had  to  confess  in  his  heart 
that  Nan's  magnificent  figure  gave  the  scene  just  the 
touch  of  queenly  dignity  which  made  it  perfect.  He 
tried  again  and  again  to  recall  the  girl  he  had  known  in 
the  old  days,  but  the  vision  faded  before  the  dazzling 
light  of  the  present. 

He  looked  at  Nan  cautiously  and  began  to  study 
her  every  word  and  movement  and  weigh  each  accent. 
Did  she  mean  what  her  words  and  tones  implied?  In 
a  hundred  little  ways  more  eloquent  than  speech  she  had 
said  to  him  to-night  that  the  old  love  of  the  morning  of 
life  was  still  the  one  living  thing.  Did  she  mean  it 
or  had  she  merely  planned  another  triumph  for  her 
vanity  in  his  second  conquest,  knowing  that  his  high 
sense  of  honour  would  hold  him  silent  and  yet  her 
slave.  With  a  lawyer's  cunning  he  put  her  to  little 
tests  to  try  the  genuineness  of  her  feeling.  He  threw 
off  his  restraint  and  led  her  back  to  the  scenes  of  their 


The  Forbidden  Land  219 

youth.  With  a  frankness  that  delighted  her  he  told 
of  his  own  struggles  of  the  past  nine  years  and  watched 
with  patient  furtive  care  for  every  tone  of  feeling  she 
might  betray.  When  dinner  ended,  she  was  leaning 
close,  her  eyes  misty  with  tears,  and  a  far-away  look 
in  them  that  told  of  memories  more  vivid  and  alluring 
than  all  the  splendours  of  her  palace. 

Stuart  drew  a  breath  of  conscious  triumph  and  his 
figure  suddenly  grew  tense  with  a  desperate  resolution. 
But  only  for  a  moment. 

He  frowned,  looked  at  his  watch  and  rose  abruptly. 

"I  must  be  going,  Nan,"  he  said  with  sudden  coldness. 

"Why,  Jim,"  she  protested.  "It's  only  ten  o'clock. 
I  won't  hear  of  such  a  thing. " 

"Yes,  I  must,"  he  persisted.'  "I've  an  important 
case  to-morrow.  I  must  work  to-night. " 

"You  shall  not  go!"  Nan  cried.  "I've  waited  nine 
years  for  this  one  evening's  chat  with  you.  Cal  has 
told  me  of  his  offer.  It's  the  most  generous  thing  he 
ever  did  in  his  life.  I  know  the  kind  of  fight  going  on 
in  your  heart.  Come  into  the  music  room,  sit  down  and 
brood  as  long  as  you  like.  I've  planned  to  charm  you 
with  an  old  accomplishment  of  mine  to-night. " 

She  led  him  to  a  rich  couch,  piled  the  pillows  high, 
made  him  snug,  drew  a  harp  near  the  other  end,  and 
began  to  tune  its  strings. 

Stuart  gazed  at  the  mural  paintings  in  the  ceiling 
and  in  a  moment  was  lost  in  visions  of  the  future  his 
excited  fancy  began  to  weave. 

Nan's  fingers  touched  the  strings  in  the  first  soft 
notes  of  an  old  melody.  He  woke  with  a  start  and 
looked  at  her.  What  a  picture  she  made,  with  her  full 
lips  parted  in  a  warm  smile,  her  magnificent  bare  arms 
moving  in  rhythmic  unison  with  the  music !  In  just  that 
pose  he  had  seen  her  a  hundred  times  in  the  days  when 


220  The  Root  of  Evil 

he  called  her  his  own.     And  now  that  he  had  lost  —  her 
beauty  had  just  reached  the  full  splendour  of  perfection. 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  picture  and  again 
the  fight  began  for  the  mastery  of  life. 

A  voice  whispered: 

"Unless  you  are  a  coward,  grasp  the  power  that  is 
yours  by  divine  right  of  nature.  Why  should  you  walk 
while  pigmies  ride?  Why  should  you  lag  behind  the 
age  in  this  fierce  struggle  for  supremacy?  The  woman 
who  sits  before  you  is  yours  if  you  only  dare  to  tear  her 
from  the  man  who  holds  her  by  the  fiction  of  dying 
customs!" 

He  felt  his  heart  throb  as  another  voice  within 
cried: 

"Yet  why  should  I,  an  heir  to  immortality,  whose 
will  can  shape  a  world,  why  should  I  live  a  beast  of  prey 
with  my  hand  against  every  man?  " 

The  answer  was  the  memory  of  dirty  finger  nails 
closing  on  his  throat  while  a  mob  of  howling  fools  surged 
over  his  body  and  cursed  him  for  trying  to  save  them 
from  themselves.  Again  he  heard  a  woman's  voice 
as  she  held  his  head  close,  whispering: 

"I've  something  to  say  to  you,  Jim!" 
His  lips  tightened  with  sudden  decision.     The  golden 
gates  of  the  forbidden  land  swung  open  and  his  soul 
entered. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN    AFTERMATH 

The  day  following  Bivens's  offer  to  Stuart  was  made 
memorable  by  a  sinister  event  in  Union  Square. 

A  mass  meeting  of  the  unemployed  had  been  called 
to  protest  against  their  wrongs  and  particularly  to 
denounce  the  men  who  had  advanced  the  price  of  bread 
by  creating  a  corner  in  wheat. 

On  his  way  down  town  Stuart  read  with  astonish 
ment  that  Dr.  Woodman  would  preside  over  this 
gathering.  He  determined  to  go.  As  he  hurried 
through  the  routine  work  of  his  office,  giving  his 
orders  for  the  day,  he  received  a  telephone  call 
from  Nan,  asking  him  to  accompany  her  to  this 
meeting. 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  go,"  he  answered 
emphatically. 

"Why?" 

"Well,  there  might  be  a  riot  for  one  thing." 

"I'm  not  afraid." 

"And  you  might  hear  some  very  plain  talk  about 
your  husband." 

"That's  exactly  why  I  wish  to  go!" 

"I  don't  think  it  wise,"  Stuart  protested. 

"I'm  going,  anyhow.     Won't  you  accompany  me?" 

"If  you  will  go  —  yes." 

"That's  a  good  boy.  I'll  send  one  of  my  cars  to  the 
office  for  you  immediately." 

An  hour  later  when  Stuart,  seated  by  Nan's  side, 


222  The  Root  of  Evil 

reached  Union  Square,  the  automobile  was  stopped  by 
the  police  and  turned  into  Seventeenth  Street. 

Every  inch  of  space  in  the  Square  seemed  blocked  by 
a  solid  mass  of  motionless  humanity.  Stuart  left  the 
car  in  Seventeeth  Street  and  succeeded  finally  in  forc 
ing  a  way  through  the  crowd  to  a  position  within  a 
hundred  feet  of  the  rude  platform  that  had  been  erected 
for  the  orators.  The  scene  about  the  stand  bristled 
with  policemen,  most  of  them  apparently  picked  men, 
their  new  uniforms  glittering  in  the  sun  and  their 
polished  clubs  flashing  defiance  as  they  twirled  them  in 
the  faces  of  the  people  with  deliberate  provocation. 

Besides  the  special  detail  of  picked  men  who  moved 
about  the  stand,  occasionally  clubbing  an  inoffensive 
man,  a  battalion  of  three  hundred  reserves  was  drawn 
up  in  serried  lines  about  a  hundred  yards  to  the  north 
on  the  edge  of  Fourth  Avenue.  Between  these  reserves 
and  the  crowd  about  the  stand  an  open  space  was  kept 
clear  for  their  possible  assault  in  case  of  any  disturbance. 

Near  these  reserves  stood  the  big  red  automobile 
of  Hamberger,  the  police  captain  of  the  District.  He 
was  reputed  to  be  a  millionaire,  though  his  salary  had 
never  been  more  than  enough  to  support  his  wife  and 
children.  The  sight  of  his  fat  insolent  face  as  the  rep 
resentative  of  Law  and  Order  gave  Stuart  the  impres 
sion  of  farce  so  irresistibly  that  he  laughed.  Surely 
some  of  Bivens's  sinister  philosophy  to  which  he  had 
listened  yesterday  had  a  pretty  solid  basis  in  the  facts 
of  our  everyday  life. 

When  the  speaking  began  Stuart  pressed  his  way  as 
close  as  possible,  drawing  Nan  with  him. 

He  was  astonished  at  the  genuine  eloquence  and 
power  with  which  the  first  speaker,  evidently  of  anar 
chistic  leanings,  developed  his  theme,  a  passionate  plea 
for  freedom  and  the  highest  development  of  the  in- 


An  Aftermath  223 

dividual  man.  He  sketched  the  growth  of  the  American 
Republic  from  its  crude  beginning  in  the  unbroken 
forests,  and  showed  with  clear  historic  grasp  how  all 
the  thinking  and  creative  deeds  which  had  added  any 
thing  to  the  sum  of  human  progress  belonged  to  this 
period  of  anarchistic  liberties.  He  traced  the  growth 
of  tyranny  in  the  development  of  our  system  of  laws 
until  to-day  we  were  less  free  than  the  people  of  England, 
who  lived  under  the  hereditary  king  against  whom  our 
fathers  had  rebelled.  A  tyranny  of  corrupt  and  igno 
rant  politicians  he  denounced  as  the  lowest  and  vilest 
yet  evolved  in  history. 

His  concluding  sentences  roused  his  crowd  to  a  pitch 
of  wild  enthusiasm. 

"In  the  Old  World,  from  which  your  fathers  and 
mothers  fled  in  search  of  freedom,  men  enslaved  their 
fellow-men  by  becoming  lords,  dukes  or  kings,  murder 
ing  or  poisoning  their  way  to  a  castle  or  a  throne.  The 
methods  of  your  modern  masters  are  more  subtle  and 
successful.  You  vote  to  make  them  your  masters,  and 
still  imagine  that  you  are  free. 

"Freedom  belongs  to  him  who  would  be  free.  And  at 
last  the  masses  of  the  people  are  becoming  restless, 
not  so  much  because  they  lack  leisure  and  luxury,  but 
because  they  have  nothing  to  live  for. 

" Millions  ask  the  question:    Is  life  worth  living? 

"Because  they  have  begun  to  ask  it,  they  will  never 
cease  until  they  have  made  it  worth  living. 

"A  deep,  half-confused  consciousness  of  the  injustice 
of  life  has  begun  to  clutch  our  throats.  We  begin  to 
curse  both  church  and  state,  thank  God,  at  last!  States 
men  must  hear  or  die.  Property  must  respond  or 
strengthen  its  bolts  and  bars  and  there's  no  room  on 
the  door  for  another  bolt.  The  church  that  has  no 
answer  to  this  cry  is  dead  already." 


224  The  Root  of  Evil 

A  cheer  like  the  roar  of  an  angry  sea  swept  the  crowd. 
Again  and  again  it  rose  and  fell,  increasing  in  volume 
as  its  contagious  spirit  set  fire  to  the  restless  minds  of 
the  thousands  who  had  packed  the  Square  but  could 
not  hear  the  man  who  was  voicing  their  faith. 

In  the  deep  roar  of  their  cheers  there  was  no  sodden 
despair.  As  Stuart  looked  into  the  faces  of  the  crowd 
he  saw  no  trace  of  the  degeneracy  and  loss  of  elemental 
manhood  which  makes  the  sight  of  an  European  mob 
loathsome  and  hopeless.  These  men  were  still  men, 
the  might  of  freemen  in  their  souls  and  good  right  arms. 

Where  had  such  crowds  met  before?  Somewhere 
he  had  seen  them  in  body  or  in  spirit.  Was  it  in  the 
streets  of  Paris  before  the  French  Revolution  sent  those 
long  lines  of  death  carts  rumbling  over  her  pavements 
to  the  guillotine? 

"Who  is  that  fellow,  Jim,"  Nan  asked. 

" Haven't  the  remotest  idea." 

"He's  a  great  orator  if  he  is  an  anarchist.  He  made 
the  cold  chills  run  down  my  back." 

"Yes,  I'm  just  wondering  how  many  more  such 
firebrands  of  eloquence  could  be  found  in  this  swaying 
forest  of  nobodies." 

He  watched  the  sneering  faces  of  the  policemen  as 
they  demanded  silence  of  the  crowd.  They  couldn't 
understand  what  the  fools  were  cheering  about.  They 
had  instructions  to  pull  the  whole  "show"  at  a  nod  from 
the  censor.  But  he  had  deemed  it  as  harmless  as  a 
Sunday-school  picnic.  The  words  of  the  orator  had 
rolled  from  his  uniform  like  water  from  a  duck's  back. 

The  next  speaker  devoted  his  time  to  a  fierce  denun 
ciation  of  the  church,  and  ended  with  a  bitter  denial  of 
the  existence  of  God. 

When  the  last  echoes  of  the  cheers  had  died  away 
there  was  a  stir  near  the  stand  and  Stuart  saw  the  stal- 


An  Aftermath  225 

wart  figure  of  Dr.  Woodman  suddenly  rise.  He  lifted 
his  arm  over  the  crowd,  demanding  silence. 

Stuart  could  see  that  his  old  friend  was  deeply  moved. 
His  big  hands  were  trembling  and  his  voice  vibrant 
with  emotion  as  he  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  platform 
and  faced  the  crowd.  Among  the  five  thousand  people 
who  stood  within  ear  shot  at  least  a  hundred  recognized 
him  and  gave  a  hearty  cheer. 

The  doctor  plunged  at  once  into  the  message  with 
which  his  heart  was  quivering: 

"Let  no  man  tell  you,  my  friends,  that  the  God  of 
our  fathers  is  a  myth.  You  can't  lose  faith  in  God 
because  you  have  not  lost  faith  in  eternal  justice. 
This  faith  is  just  coming  into  conscious  existence  in 
the  hearts  of  millions.  By  this  sign  we  know  that  a  new 
age  is  born.  Poets  and  artists  no  longer  gaze  into 
heaven.  Their  eyes  are  fixed  on  earth.  Men  have 
ceased  to  long  for  another  world,  therefore  their  hope 
is  now  for  this  one.  To  bring  Justice  and  Beauty  to 
pass  on  this  earth  in  wisdom  and  fearlessness  of  Death 
—  this  is  the  new  creed  of  the  people ! 

"My  friends,  no  such  people  ever  lived  in  history 
before.  This  continent  has  been  the  great  white  plain 
of  eternity  on  which  the  chains  of  ages  have  been  broken, 
freeing  the  human  soul  and  body  at  one  stroke,  plac 
ing  in  men's  hands,  the  mighty  weapon  of  progress  and 
defense  —  universal  suffrage.  The  workingman  of 
to-day  lives  better  than  the  kings  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Have  patience,  my  friends,  the  workingman  of  to 
morrow  will  be  the  heir  of  all  the  knowledge,  of  all  the 
pain  and  all  the  glory  of  the  centuries. 

"There  can  be  no  other  meaning  to  the  drama  of 
history,  the  sweep  of  whose  movement  is  always  up 
ward  for  the  life  of  millions,  always  writing  in  letters 
of  fire  across  the  sky  'THE  LAW  — THE  LAW!' 


226  The  Root  of  Evi! 

"I  have  seen  this  mighty  city  grow  from  compara 
tively  small  and  mean  conditions.  And  I  have  watched 
slowly  growing  here  a  new  City  of  the  Soul,  the  gradual 
development  of  civilization  itself  into  a  joyous  religion 
whose  God  is  Justice  and  Righteousness.  Each  year 
I  have  seen  the  streets  cleaner,  its  parks  more  beautiful, 
its  homes  sweeter,  its  schools  finer,  its  hospitals,  asylums 
and  play  grounds  more  magnificent  and  all  its  charities 
more  efficient.  I  have  watched  the  municipality 
slowly  but  surely  absorb  the  functions  of  the  ancient 
church,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  the  world 
begin  to  do  its  work  with  the  divine  breadth  of  God's 
boundless  love. 

"We  should  not  be  so  impatient,  we  should  not  be 
discouraged.  The  progress  of  the  world  has  really  just 
begun. 

"And  so  I,  who  watch  the  darkness  pass  and  see  the 
eastern  sky  begin  to  glow  —  I  cry  to  you  who  may  still 
be  below:  'Be  of  good  cheer  —  the  day  dawns!" 

A  feeble  cheer  rose  from  the  hundred  or  more  who 
knew  the  doctor  personally.  It  was  the  only  response 
the  sullen  crowd  gave  to  his  burst  of  epic  feeling.  They 
were  not  in  sympathy  with  his  optimism.  The  anguish 
of  the  present  moment  of  bread-hunger  and  cold  was 
too  keen.  Men  with  empty  stomachs  had  no  historic 
perspective.  They  felt  instinctively  that  it  was  just 
as  black  for  a  man  who  starved  to  death  in  the  ideal 
"City  of  the  Soul"  as  it  was  for  the  wretch  who  starved 
in  chains  in  Egypt  three  thousand  years  ago. 

When  the  doctor  sat  down  Stuart  saw  Harriet  sud 
denly  lean  over,  draw  his  big  shaggy  head  down  and 
kiss  him.  He  hadn't  recognized  her  before. 

The  next  speaker  made  his  attack  on  the  corruption 
and  graft  of  our  system  of  government  with  brutal 
frankness.  He  assailed  the  foundations  of  the  Republic 


An  Aftermath  227 

and  at  last  the  principles  which  underlie  civilized 
society  itself.  Undoubtedly  he  was  a  madman,  driven 
insane  by  the  fierce  struggle  for  bread,  but  none  the 
less  a  dangerous  maniac.  With  scathing,  bitter  wit  he 
flayed  the  corruption  of  our  system  of  democracy. 

The  big  fat  sleek  captain  of  police  had  drawn  near, 
and  listened  to  this  part  of  his  speech  with  secret  en 
joyment.  A  triumphant  smile  played  about  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  He  knew  that  the  speaker  was  hitting 
the  bull's  eye  now  with  every  shot,  but  he  squared  his 
massive  form  and  looked  over  the  cheering  crowd  of 
hungry  poverty-stricken  men  and  women  with  an 
expression  of  quiet  contempt.  Clearly  he  had  a  very 
simple  and  comprehensive  answer.  It  was  not  necessary 
for  him  to  speak  it.  His  whole  body  fairly  shouted 
it: 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  you  weak- 
kneed,  blear-eyed  scum  of  the  earth!" 

For  the  moment  Stuart  could  not  determine  which 
one  of  the  men  he  hated  most  —  the  madman  who  was 
doing  his  best  to  pull  the  house  down  which  sheltered 
him  or  the  stupid  beast  who  stood  over  him  clothed 
with  the  supreme  authority  of  law. 

The  speaker  closed  his  tirade  with  a  fierce  personal 
attack  on  the  man  who  had  made  five  millions  in  a 
corner  on  bread  and  flaunted  his  ill-gotten  gains  in 
the  face  of  starving  men  and  women. 

Nan's  face  flashed  with  sudden  rage. 

"Take  me  to  my  car,  Jim.  I've  an  idea  —  I'm  going 
to  execute  it  at  once." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  meet  the  doctor  and  his 
daughter  before  you  go?" 

"Thanks,  hardly.  You  know  he  is  on  Mr.  Bivens's 
black  list." 

"I'd  forgotten  that,"  he  answered  regretfully.     "I'd 


228  The  Root  of  Evil 

like  awfully  for  you  to  meet  Harriet.  I'm  sure 
you'd  like  her." 

Nan  smiled. 

"I  could  see  she  likes  you.  I  don't  think  she  took  a 
fancy  to  me,  however." 

"Nonsense,  Nan,"  he  said,  with  annoyance.  "She 
couldn't  have  seen  you.  I  didn't  know  she  was  here 
until  she  kissed  her  father." 

"Perhaps  my  eyes  are  keener  than  yours." 

The  captain  of  the  district  brushed*' rudely  past  and 
sprang  into  his  automobile.  He  waved  his  hand  to  his 
chauffeur.  His  gesture  was  mistaken  by  a  pair  of  keen 
restless  eyes  for  a  command  to  his  reserves  to  disperse 
the  crowd. 

A  pale,  shabby  young  fellow  leaped  past  the  line  of 
police  into  the  open  space  and  rushed  straight  for  the 
reserves.  His  long  thin  arm  was  lifted  high  in  the  air 
clutching  a  black  thing  with  a  lighted  fuse  sparkling 
from  its  crest. 

A  murmur  rippled  the  crowd,  the  police  stood  still 
and  stared,  and  the  next  moment  the  bomb  exploded  in 
the  boy's  hand  and  his  body  lay  on  the  stones  a  mangled 
heap  of  torn  flesh  and  blood-soaked  rags. 

The  police  charged  the  crowd  and  clubbed  them  with 
out  mercy.  The  people  fled  in  confusion  in  every  direc 
tion,  and  in  five  minutes  the  Square  was  cleared. 

Stuart  had  hurried  Nan  to  her  car,  and  rushed  back 
to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  He  readily  passed  the  lines 
of  the  police,  who  recognized  him  as  the  district 
attorney. 

The  doctor  reached  the  spot  and  Harriet  was  holding 
the  dying  boy's  head  in  her  lap. 

Stuart  bent  over  her  curiously  and  slowly  asked: 

"You  were  not  afraid  to  rush  up  here  with  your 
father  and  take  that  poor  mangled  thing  in  your  arms?" 


An  Aftermath  229 

"Of  course  not,"  she  replied  simply.  "Papa  says 
he's  dying  —  nothing  can  be  done  for  him.  They've 
sent  for  an  ambulance." 

The  doctor  stood  staring  at  the  dying  boy  and  a  tear 
had  slowly  gathered  in  his  kindly  eye. 

He  pressed  Stuart's  arm  and  spoke  in  low  tones: 

"I've  made  some  big  mistakes  in  my  life,  my  boy. 
I'm  just  beginning  to  see  them.  I've  read  a  new  mes 
sage  in  the  flutter  of  this  poor  fellow's  pulse.  I'll  not 
be  slow  to  heed  it." 

But  Stuart  stood  watching  with  growing  wonder 
Harriet's  deft  little  hand  brush  the  damp  hair  back  from 
the  poor  disfigured  face. 


CHAPTER  XV 

CONFESSION 

The  face  of  the  dying  boy  haunted  the  doctor's 
imagination.  With  his  eyes  closed  or  open,  at  noon 
or  alone  at  night  the  pity  and  the  horror  of  his  lonely 
death  gripped  him.  A  boy  of  twenty,  weak,  hungry, 
ragged,  alone,  had  dared  to  lift  his  thin  arm  above  his 
head  and  charge  the  entrenched  authority  of  the  civi 
lized  world. 

Was  he,  with  other  theorists,  responsible  for  the  mad 
act? 

He  began  to  think  that  Tolstoy  is  right  in  his  assertion 
that  human  progress  is  a  march  of  ideas  —  and  that  the 
day  of  revolution  by  bloodshed  has  passed.  He  began 
to  fear  that  his  struggle  with  Bivens  in  his  long-drawn 
and  fiercely  contested  lawsuit  was  an  act  of  the  same 
essential  quality  of  blind  physical  violence.  He  began 
to  see  that  the  real  motive  back  of  his  struggle  was 
hatred  of  the  man  —  this  little  counter  jumper,  who  had 
destroyed  his  business.  It  was  the  irony  of  such  a  fate 
that  sunk  its  poisoned  dagger  into  his  heart.  He  faced 
the  fact  at  last  without  flinching. 

He  rose  and  paced  the  floor  of  his  library  for  a  half- 
hour  with  measured  tread.  He  stopped  suddenly  and 
clenched  his  big  fists  instinctively. 

"I  do  hate  him  —  with  undying,  everlasting  hatred, 
and  I  pray  God  to  give  me  greater,  strength  to  hate 
him  more!" 

Again  the  picture  of  the  pale,  torn,  blood-stained  face, 

230 


Confession  23 1 

with  its  mute  piteous  appeal,  rose  before  him.  The 
anger  slowly  melted  out  of  his  heart  and  the  old  thought 
came  back: 

"How  rich  is  my  life  after  all  compared  to  his!" 

And  then  he  made  a  mental  inventory  of  his  assets, 
with  sad  results.  He  had  tried  for  a  long  time  not  to 
face  those  facts.  But  if  he  gave  up  the  suit  he  must 
face  them.  He  had  identified  this  action  at  last  with 
his  faith  in  the  very  existence  of  justice.  To  realize 
that  the  element  of  personal  hatred  was  the  motive 
power  back  of  it  was  a  shock  to  the  whole  structure  of 
his  character. 

He  rose  with  sudden  determination.  He  would  not 
surrender.  He  would  fight  it  out  with  this  little  swarthy 
scoundrel,  win  or  lose.  His  house  was  mortgaged, 
the  last  dollar  of  his  savings  he  had  spent  in  helping 
others  and  the  money  set  aside  to  finish  Harriet's 
course  in  music  had  been  lost  in  the  panic.  He  would 
fight  it  out  somehow  and  win.  But  the  one  thing  that 
must  not  fail  was  the  perfection  of  his  girl's  voice. 
The  court  of  appeals  would  certainly  render  their 
decision  before  her  next  term's  work  would  begin. 
She  could  rest  during  the  summer.  It  would  do  her 
good.  If  he  could  be  firm  with  his  tenants  and  collect 
his  room-rents  promptly  from  everyone,  the  income 
from  his  house  was  still  sufficient  to  pay  the  interest 
on  the  mortgage  and  give  them  a  little  to  eat.  It  would 
be  enough.  Food  for  the  soul  was  more  important. 
He  resolved  to  ask  Stuart  to  collect  his  rents. 

He  looked  up  and  Harriet  stood  smiling  at  him. 

"What  an  actor  you  would  have  made,  Papa!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"Why?" 

"I've  been  watching  you  play  a  great  scene,  all  the 
characters  by  yourself." 


232  The  Root  of  Evil 

"A  foolish  habit,  dear!"  the  father  laughed.  "Al 
ways  muttering  and  talking  to  myself.  I  suppose  I'll 
be  arrested  for  a  lunatic  some  day." 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  looked  at  Harriet  closely. 

"Come  here,  Baby." 

She  came  and  stood  beside  his  chair.  He  pressed 
her  hand  tenderly. 

"What  have  you  been  crying  about?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,"  was  the  low  answer.  "I 
really  don't  know  —  perhaps  the  thing  that  makes  the 
birds  out  there  in  the  Square  chirp  while  the  snow  is 
still  on  the  ground,  the  feeling  that  Spring  is  coming." 

"You're  keeping  something  from  me,  dearest,"  he 
whispered,  slipping  his  arm  about  her  waist.  "Tell 
me." 

"You  really  believe  in  my  voice,  don't  you?"  she 
asked  slowly. 

"Believe  in  it?    Do  I  believe  in  God?" 

"Could  I  go  abroad  right  away  and  finish  my  work 
there?" 

She  asked  the  question  with  such  painful  intensity, 
the  father  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?" 

The  girl  slipped  her  arm  around  his  neck  with  a 
sob. 

He  bent  and  kissed  the  golden  hair,  stroking  it  fondly 
until  she  was  calmer. 

"Why  do  you  wish  to  go  now,  child?"  he  asked  at 
last. 

"I've  a  confession  to  make,  Papa  dear." 

The  little  head  sank  low  and  the  arm  tightened  its 
grip  about  his  neck. 

"What  is  it,  darling?  I'm  sure  it's  nothing  of  which 
you're  ashamed." 


Confession  233 

"No,  something  of  which  I'm  proud.  Something 
so  sweet  and  wonderful  in  itself,  the  very  joy  of  it  I  feel 
sometimes  will  kill  me.  I'm  in  love,  desperately  and 
hopelessly." 

Again  a  sob  caught  her  voice,  and  the  father's  arms 
drew  her  to  his  heart  and  held  her. 

"But  why  hopelessly,  my  baby?"  he  asked.  "Your 
hair  is  beaten  gold,  your  eyes  are  deep  and  true,  your 
slender  little  form  has  all  the  symmetry  and  beauty  of 
a  sylph.  You  are  young,  radiant,  glorious,  and  your 
voice  the  angels  would  envy." 

"But  the  man  I  love  doesn't  realize  all  that  yet, 
Papa  dear.  He  is  bound  by  the  memories  of  the  past 
to  a  woman  he  once  loved,  a  woman  who  is  evil  at  heart, 
and  though  she  betrayed  him  for  the  lust  of  money,  is 
determined  to  hold  him  still  her  slave.  But  she  shall 
not.  I'll  fight  for  him!  And  you'll  help  me,  Papa, 
won't  you?" 

The  father  drew  her  close. 

"Won't  I  —  just  wait  and  see!  —  But  you  haven't 
told  me  his  name?  I've  been  very  blind,  I  fear." 

"You've  never  guessed?" 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his  in  surprise. 

"No." 

"Jim." 

"Our  Jim  Stuart?" 

She  nodded.     Her  voice  wouldn't  work. 

"Oh,  I  see,  I  see!"  the  father  mused.  "The  first 
love  of  a  child's  heart  grown  slowly  into  the  great 
passion  of  life." 

Again  the  little  head  nodded. 

"You  understand  now  why  I  wish  to  get  away,  to 
finish  my  work  abroad.  I'll  be  nearer  to  him  with  the 
ocean  between  us.  He'll  miss  me  then.  I  feel  it, 
know  it.  When  I  return  he  will  be  proud  of  my  voice. 


234  The  Root  of  Evil 

I  shall  go  mad  if  I  stay  here  and  see  him  dangling  at  that 
woman's  heels.  I  watched  her  with  him  to-day,  de 
vouring  him  with  her  eyes,  her  millions  won  by  his 
betrayal,  yet  proud,  miserable,  envious,  and  deter 
mined  to  wreck  his  life.  But  I  shall  return  in  time  to 
make  him  know.  He  loves  music.  I  shall  sing  when 
he  hears  me  as  I  never  sang  before,  and  I  shall  say  to  him 
then  all  the  unspoken  things  I  dare  not  put  in  speech. 
You  understand,  Papa  dear,  you'll  send  me  away  and 
help  me  to  win?" 

The  father  kissed  the  trembling  lips  and  answered 
firmly. 

"Yes,  I'll  raise  the  money  for  you  right  away." 

And  then  for  half  an  hour  she  lay  in  his  arms  while 
he  whispered  beautiful  thoughts  of  her  future — things  he 
had  promised  himself  to  say  often  before  and  had  not 
said,  until  at  last  she  smiled  with  joy.  When  he  sent 
her  to  bed  he  had  kissed  the  last  tear  away. 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully  at  the  door. 

"I'm  not  going  to  make  this  fight  for  fame  and 
money  —  it's  all  for  the  heart  Of  the  man  I  love. " 

"I  understand,  dear!"  he  answered  cheerily  as' he 
threw  her  a  last  kiss. 

When  she  had  gone  and  he  heard  her  door  close,  he 
stood  for  a  moment,  lost  in  thought,  and  then  slowly 
exclaimed: 

"And  now  I've  got  to  surrender." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    UNBIDDEN   GUEST 

The  bitter  reference  to  Bivens  and  the  crime  of  his 
corner  in  wheat  had  roused  Nan's  fighting  blood.  She 
would  accept  the  challenge  of  this  rabble  and  show 
her  contempt  for  its  opinions  in  a  way  that  could  not 
be  mistaken.  She  determined  to  give  an  entertainment 
whose  magnificence  would  startle  the  social  world  and 
be  her  defiant  answer  to  the  critics  of  her  husband. 
At  the  same  time  it  would  serve  the  double  purpose  of 
dazzling  and  charming  the  imagination  of  Stuart.  She 
would  by  a  single  dash  of  power  end  his  indecision  as 
to  Bivens's  offer  and  bind  with  stronger  cords  the  tie 
that  held  him  to  her. 

Her  suggestion  was  received  with  enthusiasm  by  her 
husband. 

"All  right/7  he  said  excitedly,  "beat  the  record. 
Give  them  something  to  talk  about  the  rest  of  their 
lives.  I  don't  mean  those  poor  fools  in  Union  Square. 
Their  raving  is  pathetic.  I  mean  the  big  bugs  who 
think  they  own  the  earth,  the  people  who  think  that  we 
are  new-comers  and  that  this  island  was  built  for 
their  accommodation.  Give  them  a  knock-out." 

Nan's  eyes  danced  with  excitement. 

"You  really  mean  that  I  may  plan  without  counting 
the  cost?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  mean.  The  man  is  yet  to 
be  born  whose  brain  can  conceive  the  plan  to  spend 
artistically  on  one  night's  entertainment  the  half 

235 


236  The  Root  of  Evil 

I'm  willing  to  blow  in  just  now  for  such  a  triumph." 
"I'll  do  my  best,"  she  answered  quietly. 
"  Nothing  cheap  or  vulgar  about  it,  you  know.     I 
think  that  party  in  which  the  guests  were  drenched  with 
a  hose  and  the  one  in  which  they  dressed  as  vegetables 
were  slightly  lacking  in  originality.     True,  the  hose 
pipe   party  had   a   stirring   climax    when    the   pretty 
hostess  appeared  in  a  silk  bathing  suit  and  allowed  her 
self  to  be  ducked  by  her  admirers  in  her  own  bath  tub; 
still  dear,  I  shouldn't  care  for  that  sort  of  a  sensation." 
"I  think  I'd  draw  the  line  at  that  myself.     I  promise 
you  something  better." 

"Of  course  that  bathing-suit  luncheon  at  Newport 
last  summer  was  a  stunning  affair.  The  women  cer 
tainly  made  a  hit.  But  I  can't  quite  figure  my  wife 
appearing  in  it." 

Nan  lifted  her  eyebrows: 

"I  promise  you  faithfully  not  to  appear  in  a  bathing 
suit." 

"Just  one  more  pet  aversion,  dear,"  Bivens  smiled. 
"You  won't  have  any  kind  of  an  animal  party,  will 
you?" 

"There'll  be  many  kinds  of  animals  present  if  they 
could  only  be  accurately  catalogued. " 

"I  mean,  particularly,  monkeys.  You  know  that 
monkey  party  got  on  my  nerves.  I  mix  with  bulls 
and  bears  every  day  down  in  Wall  Street.  And  all 
sorts  of  reptiles  crawl  among  those  big  buildings  —  but 
when  I  had  to  shake  hands  with  that  monkey  dressed 
in  immaculate  evening  clothes  sitting  at  a  table  sip 
ping  champagne,  I  thought  they  were  pushing  family 
history  a  little  too  far.  Maybe  our  ancestors  were 
monkeys  all  right,  but  the  less  said  about  it  the  better." 
"I  promise,"  Nan  laughed. 
"Then  good  luck,  and  remember  the  sky's  the  limit." 


The  Unbidden  Guest  237 

Bivens  waved  her  a  kiss,  hurried  to  his  office  and 
concluded  a  deal  for  floating  five  millions  in  common 
stock,  which  cost  exactly  the  paper  on  which  it  was 
printed.  His  share  of  this  loot  would  pay  more  than 
his  wife  could  spend  in  a  year. 

Nan  spared  no  expenditure  of  time,  money  and 
thought  to  the  perfection  of  her  plans.  She  employed 
a  corps  of  trained  artists,  took  them  to  her  home,  told 
them  what  she  wished  and  they  worked  with  enthusiasm 
to  eclipse  in  splendour  New  York's  record  of  lavish 
entertainments  —  but  always  with  the  reservation 
which  she  had  imposed  that  nothing  be  done  that 
might  violate  the  canons  of  beauty  and  good  taste. 

The  long-dreamed  night  came,  and  her  guests  had  be 
gun  to  arrive. 

One  was  hurrying  there  to  whom  no  engraved  invita 
tion  had  been  sent,  and  yet  his  coming  was  the  one  big 
event  of  the  evening,  the  one  thing  that  would  make 
the  night  memorable.  No  liveried  flunky  cried  his  name 
in  the  great  hall,  but  a  white  invisible  figure  stood  ready 
to  draw  aside  the  velvet  curtains  as  he  passed. 

The  confession  of  love  for  Stuart  which  Harriet  had 
sobbed  out  in  her  father's  arms  had  been  the  last  straw 
that  broke  the  backbone  of  his  fight  against  Bivens. 
In  a  burst  of  generous  feeling  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
eat  his  pride,  drive  from  his  mind  every  bitter  impulse 
and  forget  that  he  had  ever  hated  this  man  or  been 
wronged  by  him.  He  could  see  now  that  he  had  neg 
lected  his  little  girl  in  the  fight  he  had  been  making  for 
other  people  and  that  her  very  life  might  be  at  stake 
in  the  struggle  she  was  making  for  the  man  she 
loved. 

Bivens  had  once  offered  to  buy  his  business.  He  had 
afterward  made  him  a  generous  offer  to  compromise 
his  suit.  He  had  never  doubted  for  a  moment  that  a 


238  The  Root  of  Evil 

compromise  would  be  accepted  the  moment  he  should 
see  fit  to  give  up. 

Well,  he  would  give  up.  Life  was  too  short  for  strife 
and  bitterness.  It  was  just  long  enough  to  love  his 
little  girl.  He  would  not  waste  another  precious 
hour. 

He  instructed  his  lawyer  to  withdraw  the  appeal  be 
fore  the  day  fixed  for  filing  the  papers.  The  lawyer 
raved  and  pleaded  in  vain.  The  doctor  was  firm. 
He  wrote  Bivens  a  generous  personal  letter  in  which  he 
asked  that  the  past  be  forgotten  and  that  he  appoint 
a  meeting  at  which  they  could  arrange  the  terms  of  a 
final  friendly  settlement. 

The  act  had  lifted  a  load  from  his  heart.  The  sum  he 
would  receive,  if  but  half  Bivens's  original  offer,  would 
be  sufficient  to  keep  him  in  comfort,  complete  his 
daughter's  course  in  music,  and  give  him  something 
with  which  to  continue  his  daily  ministry  to  the  friend 
less  and  the  lowly.  It  was  all  he  asked  of  the  world 
now. 

He  wondered  in  his  new  enthusiasm  why  he  had  kept 
up  this  bitter  feud  for  the  enforcement  of  his  rights  by 
law,  when  there  were  so  many  more  urgent  and  im 
portant  things  in  life  to  do. 

He  waited  four  days  for  an  answer  to  his  letter  and 
receiving  none,  wrote  again.  In  the  meantime  the 
day  for  final  action  on  his  appeal  had  passed  and  his 
suit  was  legally  ended.  On  the  last  day  his  lawyer 
pleaded  with  him  for  an  hour  to  file  the  appeal  suit  and 
then  compromise  at  his  leisure.  The  doctor  merely 
smiled  quietly  and  repeated  his  decision  : 

"I'm  done  fighting.     I've  something  else  to  do." 

When  Bivens  failed  to  reply  to  his  second  letter  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  see  him  personally.  He  was  sure 
the  letter  had  been  turned  over  to  a  lawyer  and  the 


The  Unbidden  Guest  239 

financier  had  never  seen  it.  He  called  at  Bivens's  office 
three  times  and  always  met  the  same  answer: 

"Mr.  Bivens  is  engaged  for  every  hour  to-day.  You 
must  call  again." 

On  the  fourth  day,  when  he  had  stayed  until  time  for 
closing  the  office,  a  secretary  informed  him  that  Mr. 
Bivens  was  too  busy  with  matters  of  great  importance 
to  take  up  any  new  business  of  any  kind  for  a  month, 
and  that  he  had  given  the  most  positive  orders  to  that 
effect  to  all  his  men.  If  he  would  return  the  first  of 
next  month  he  would  see  what  could  be  done. 

The  doctor  left  in  disgust.  It  was  evident  that  the 
millionaire's  business  had  reached  such  vast  proportions 
that  its  details  were  as  intricate  and  absorbing  as  the 
government  of  an  empire  and  that  he  had  found  it 
necessary  to  protect  his  person  with  a  network  of  red 
tape. 

He  determined  to  break  through  this  ceremonial 
nonsense,  see  Bivens  face  to  face,  and  settle  the  affair 
at  once. 

When  he  should  see  him  personally  it  would  be  but 
a  question  of  five  minutes'  friendly  talk  and  the  matter 
would  be  ended.  Now  that  he  recalled  little  traits 
of  Bivens's  character,  he  didn't  seem  such  a  scoundrel 
after  all  —  just  the  average  money-mad  man  who  could 
see  but  one  side  of  life.  He  would  remind  him  in  a 
friendly  way  of  their  early  association,  and  the  help  he 
had  given  him  at  an  hour  of  his  life  when  he  needed  it 
most.  He  wouldn't  cringe  or  plead.  He  would  state 
the  whole  situation  frankly  and  truthfully  and  with 
dignity  propose  a  settlement. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  the  doctor  learned  of 
the  preparations  for  the  dinner  and  ball  at  the  Bivens 
palace  on  Riverside  Drive.  The  solution  of  the  whole 
problem  flashed  through  his  mind  in  an  instant.  They 


240  The  Root  of  Evil 

would  have  professional  singers  without  a  doubt,  the 
great  operatic  stars  and  others.  If  Harriet  could  only 
be  placed  on  the  programme  for  a  single  song  it  would 
be  settled!  Her  voice  would  sweep  Bivens  off  his  feet 
and  charm  the  brilliant  throng  of  guests.  He  would 
have  to  accompany  her  there  of  course.  At  the  right 
moment  he  would  make  himself  known;  a  word  with 
Bivens  and  it  would  be  settled. 

He  imagined  in  vivid  flashes  the  good-natured  scene 
between  them,  the  astonishment  of  the  financier  that 
his  little  girl  had  grown  into  such  a  wonderful  woman 
and  his  pleasure  in  recalling  the  days  when  she  used 
to  play  hide  and  seek  behind  the  counter  of  the  old 
drug  store. 

He  lost  no  time  in  finding  out  the  manager  of  the 
professional  singers  for  the  evening  and  through  Har 
riet's  enthusiastic  music  teachers  arranged  for  her 
appearance. 

From  the  moment  this  was  accomplished  his  natural 
optimism  returned.  His  success  was  sure.  He  gave  his 
time  with  renewed  energy  to  his  work  among  the  poor. 

On  the  day  of  the  ball  Harriet  was  waiting  in  a  fever 
of  impatience  for  his  return  from  the  hospitals  to  dress. 
At  half  past  seven  their  dinner  was  cold  and  he  had 
not  come.  It  was  eight  o'clock  before  his  familiar 
footstep  echoed  through  the  hall. 

Harriet  kissed  him  tenderly. 

"I'm  glad  you're  safe  at  home  at  last  —  now  hurry. " 

"I'll  not  delay  you  much.  I  can  dress  in  thirty 
minutes.  My!  my!  but  you're  glorious  to-night,  child! 
I  never  saw  you  look  so  beautiful!" 

She  pushed  him  into  the  dining  room,  crying: 

"Hurry!  Hurry!  Hurry!  This  is  really  the  first 
night  in  my  career.  Jim's  been  gone  an  hour.  Dinner 
up  there  begins  at  eight." 


The  Unbidden  Guest  241 

"But  my  star  does  not  rise  to  sing  before  eleven  — 
the  ball  begins  at  twelve.  I've  plenty  of  time  to  love 
you  a  minute  or  two." 

He  drew  her  near  again  and  kissed  her. 

"I  wouldn't  exchange  my  little  girl's  crown  of  gold 
for  all  the  yellow  coin  of  the  millionaires  we  shall  see 
to-night." 

"  And  I  wouldn't  give  the  father  with  the  loving  heart 
and  stainless  name  for  the  Kingdom  of  Mammon." 

"That's  a  beautiful  saying,  my  own,  I  shall  not  forget 
it;  and  now  I'll  hurry." 

He  ate  a  hasty  meal,  dressed  in  thirty  minutes,  and 
at  nine  o'clock  led  Harriet  to  the  side  entrance  of 
Bivens's  great  house  on  the  Drive. 

He  was  in  fine  spirits.  The  reaction  from  the  tension 
of  a  pitiful  tragedy  of  sin  and  shame  he  had  witnessed 
in  the  afternoon  had  lifted  him  to  spiritual  heights. 
For  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  look  at  his  own  troubles 
seriously.  They  seemed  trivial  in  a  world  of  such 
shadows  as  that  which  fell  across  his  path  from  behind 
those  iron  bars.  He  rejoiced  again  that  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  live  the  life  of  faith  and  good  fellowship 
with  all  men,  including  the  little  swarthy  master  of 
the  palace  he  was  about  to  enter. 

And  so  with  light  heart  he  stepped  through  the  door 
which  the  soft  white  hand  of  Death  opened.  How  could 
he  know? 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SOME  INSIDE  FACTS 

As  Stuart  dressed  for  Nan's  party  he  brooded  over 
his  new  relation  to  his  old  sweetheart  with  increasing 
pleasure.  She  had  begun  to  tease  him  with  gentle 
raillery  about  his  tragic  exaggeration  of  the  treachery 
of  her  betrayal,  and  laughingly  promised  to  make  it 
all  up  by  introducing  him  to  a  group  of  the  richest  and 
most  beautiful  girls  in  New  York.  He  could  take  his 
choice  under  her  wise  guidance.  She  promised  to  begin 
his  course  of  instruction  to-night. 

Never  had  Bivens's  offer  seemed  more  generous  and 
wonderful.  His  pulse  beat  with  quickened  stroke  as  he 
felt  the  new  sense  of  power  with  which  he  would  look 
out  on  the  world  as  a  possible  millionaire. 

He  gazed  over  the  old  Square  with  a  feeling  of  regret 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  it.  He  had  grown  to  love  the 
place  in  the  past  years  of  loneliness.  He  had  become 
personally  acquainted  with  every  tree  and  shrub  and 
every  limb  of  the  nearby  trees.  He  had  watched  them 
grow  from  his  window,  seen  them  sway  in  the  storm, 
bow  beneath  the  ice,  and  grow  into  new  beauty  and  life 
each  spring.  He  was  deciding  too  soon,  perhaps. 
There  were  some  features  of  Bivens's  business  he  must 
understand  more  clearly  before  he  could  give  up  his 
freedom  and  devote  himself  body  and  soul  to  the  task 
of  money-making  as  his  associate. 

He  resolved  to  make  his  decision  with  deliberation. 
But  if  he  should  go  in  for  money,  he  wouldn't  forget 

242 


Some  Inside  Facts  243 

his  old  friends,  nor  would  he  leave  Washington  Square. 
He  would  buy  that  corner  plot  on  Fifth  Avenue  across 
the  way  for  his  house.  There  should  be  two  beautiful 
suites  in  it  for  the  doctor  and  Harriet,  and  from  their 
windows  they  could  always  see  the  old  home  on  the 
other  side.  He  would  buy  the  two  adjoining  houses, 
turn  them  into  a  sanitarium,  endow  it  and  place  the 
doctor  in  charge.  And  he  would  give  him  a  fund  of  ten 
thousand  a  year  for  his  outside  work  among  the  poor. 

He  woke  from  his  reverie  with  a  start  and  looked  at 
his  watch  to  find  he  had  been  standing  there  dreaming 
for  half  an  hour.  He  hurried  across  the  Square  to  take 
a  cab  at  the  Brevoort. 

His  mood  was  buoyant.  He  was  looking  out  on  life 
once  more  through  rose-tinted  glasses.  At  Eighth 
Street  he  met  at  right  angles  the  swarming  thousands 
hurrying  across  town  from  their  work  —  heavy  looking 
men  who  tramped  with  tired  step,  striking  the  pave 
ments  dully  with  their  nailed  shoes,  tired  anxious  women, 
frouzle-headed  little  girls,  sad-eyed  boys  half-awake 
—  all  hurrying,  the  fear  of  want  and  the  horror  of 
charity  in  their  silent  faces.  And  yet  the  sight  touched 
no  responsive  chord  of  sympathy  in  Stuart's  heart  as 
it  often  had.  To-night  he  saw  only  the  thing  that  is 
and  felt  that  it  was  good. 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  shabby  throng,  found 
a  cab,  sprang  in  and  gave  his  order  to  the  driver.  A 
row  of  taxicabs  stood  by  the  curb.  He  took  an  old- 
fashioned  hansom  from  choice.  It  seemed  to  link  the 
present  moment  of  his  life  to  the  memory  of  some 
wonderful  hours  he  had  spent,  with  Nan  by  his  side, 
years  ago. 

As  the  cab  whirled  up  Fifth  Avenue  he  leaned  back 
in  his  seat  with  a  feeling  of  glowing  satisfaction  with 
himself  and  the  world.  The  shadows  of  a  beautiful 


244  The  Root  of  Evil 

spring  night  slowly  deepened  as  the  city  drew  her  shin 
ing  mantle  of  light  about  her  proud  form.  The  Avenue 
flashed  with  swift  silent  automobiles  and  blooded  horses. 
These  uptown  crowds  through  whose  rushing  streams 
he  passed  were  all  well  dressed  and  carried  bundles  of 
candy,  flowers  and  toys.  The  newsboys  were  already 
crying  extras  with  glowing  advance  accounts  of  the 
banquet  and  ball. 

Stuart  felt  the  contagious  enthusiasm  of  thousands 
of  prosperous  men  and  women  whose  lives  at  the  moment 
flowed  about  and  enveloped  his  own.  This  was  a  pretty 
fine  old  world  after  all,  and  New  York  the  only  town 
worth  living  in. 

And  what  was  it  that  made  the  difference  between 
the  squalid  atmosphere  below  Fourth  Street  and  the 
glowing,  flashing,  radiant,  jewelled  world  up-town? 
Money!  It  meant  purple  and  fine  linen,  delicacies  of 
food  and  drink,  pulsing  machines  that  could  make  a 
mile  a  minute,  high-stepping  horses  and  high-bred  dogs, 
music  and  dancing,  joy  and  laughter,  sport  and  ad 
venture,  the  mountain  and  the  sea,  freedom  from  care, 
fear,  drudgery  and  slavery! 

After  all  in  this  modern  passion  for  money  might 
there  not  be  something  deeper  than  mere  greed;  per 
haps  the  regenerating  power  of  the  spirit  pressing  man 
upward?  Certainly  he  could  only  see  the  bright  side 
of  it  to-night  and  the  wonder  grew  on  him  that  he  had 
lived  for  twenty-five  years  in  a  fog  of  sentiment  and 
ignored  deliberately  the  biggest  fact  of  the  century, 
while  the  simpler  mind  of  the  poor  white  boy  in  Bivens 
had  grasped  the  truth  at  once  and  built  his  life  squarely 
on  it  from  the  beginning.  Well,  he  had  set  his  mind  to 
it  at  last  in  time  to  reach  the  highest  goal  of  success., 
if  he  so  willed.  For  that  he  was  thankful. 

As  his  cab  swung  into  Riverside  Drive  from  Seventy- 


Some  Inside  Facts  245 

second  Street  the  sight  which  greeted  him  was  one  of 
startling  splendour. 

Bivens's  yacht  lay  at  anchor  in  the  river  just  in  front 
of  his  house.  She  was  festooned  with  electric  lights 
from  the  water  line  to  the  top  of  her  towering  steel  masts. 
From  every  shroud  and  halyard  hung  garlands  of  light, 
and  the  flags  which  flew  from  her  peaks  were  illumined 
with  waving  red,  white  and  blue  colours.  From  the 
water's  edge  floated  the  songs  of  Venetian  gondoliers 
imported  from  Italy  for  the  night's  festival,  moving 
back  and  forth  from  the  yacht. 

The  illumination  of  the  exterior  of  the  Bivens  house 
was  remarkable.  The  stone  and  iron  fence  surrounding 
the  block,  which  had  been  built  at  a  cost  of  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  was  literally  ablaze  with  lights. 
Garlands  of  tiny  electric  bulbs  had  been  fastened  on 
every  iron  picket,  post  and  cross  bar,  and  the  most 
wonderful  effect  of  all  had  been  achieved  by  leading 
these  garlands  of  light  along  the  lines  of  cement  in  the 
massive  granite  walls  on  which  the  iron  stanchions 
rested.  The  effect  was  a  triumph  of  artistic  skill,  a 
flashing  electric  fence  built  on  huge  boulders  of 
light. 

The  house  was  illumined  from  its  foundations  to  the 
top  of  each  towering  minaret  with  ruby-coloured  lights. 
Each  window,  door,  cornice,  column  and  line  of  wall 
glowed  in  soft  red.  The  palace  gleamed  in  the  dark 
ness  like  a  huge  oriental  ruby  set  in  diamonds. 

Stuart  passed  up  the  grand  stairs  through  a  row  of 
gorgeous  flunkies  and  greeted  his  hostess. 

Nan  grasped  his  hand  with  a  smile  of  joy. 

"You  are  to  lead  me  in  to  dinner,  Jim,  at  the  stroke 
of  eight." 

"I'll  not  forget,"  Stuart  answered,  his  face  flushing 
with  surprise  at  the  unexpected  honour. 


246  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Cal  wishes  to  see  you  at  once.  You  will  find  him 
in  the  library." 

Bivens  met  him  at  the  door. 

"Ah,  there  you  are!"  he  cried  cordially.  "Come 
back  down  stairs  with  me.  I  want  you  to  see  some 
people  as  they  come  in  to-night.  I've  a  lot  of  funny 
things  to  tell  you  about  them." 

The  house  was  crowded  with  an  army  of  servants, 
attendants,  musicians,  singers,  entertainers  and  re 
porters. 

The  doctor  had  been  recognized  by  one  of  the  butlers 
whom  he  had  befriended  on  his  arrival  from  the  Old 
World.  The  grateful  fellow  had  gone  out  of  the  way 
to  make  him  at  home,  and  in  his  enthusiasm  had  put 
an  alcove  which  opened  off  the  ball  room  at  his  and 
Harriet's  disposal.  The  doctor  was  elated  at  this 
evidence  of  Bivens's  good  feeling  and  again  congratu 
lated  himself  on  his  common  sense  in  coming. 

Bivens  led  Stuart  to  a  position  near  the  grand  stair 
way,  from  which  he  could  greet  his  guests  as  they  re 
turned  from  their  formal  presentation  to  the  hostess. 

He  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  biographical  comment 
which  amused  Stuart  beyond  measure. 

"That  fellow,  Jim,"  he  whispered,  as  a  tall  finely 
groomed  man  passed  and  touched  his  hand,  "  that  fellow 
is  as  slick  a  political  grafter  as  ever  stole  the  ear-rings 
from  the  sleeping  form  of  a  fallen  angel.  He  levies 
blackmail  on  almost  every  crime  named  in  the  code. 
But  you  can't  prove  it  in  court  and  he's  worth  millions. 
His  influence  on  legislation  is  enormous  and  he  can't 
be  ignored.  He's  one  of  the  kind  who  like  this  sort  of 
thing,  and  he  goes  everywhere.  Money  is  power. 
No  matter  how  you  get  it.  Once  gotten,  it's  divine. 
Call  the  man  a  thief  and  grafter  if  you  will,  but  the  laws 
of  centuries  protect  him.  There  are  no  rights  now  ex- 


Some  Inside  Facts  247 

cept  property  rights.  I'd  like  to  kick  him  out  of  the 
house.  I'd  as  lief  a  toad  or  a  lizard  touched  my  wife's 
hand,  but  he's  here  to-night,  well,  because  I'm  afraid 
of  him." 

Stuart  nodded. 

"Yes.  I  tried  to  send  the  gentleman  to  the  peniten 
tiary  last  year." 

"But  you  didn't  even  get  in  speaking  distance  of 
him,  did  you?" 

"No,  and  - 

"You  bet  you  didn't;  he's  a  lawyer  himself." 

"I  thought  he  smiled  when  he  shook  hands." 

"You  remember  that  old  Latin  proverb  we  used  to 
get  off  at  college?  I  was  punk  in  Latin,  but  I  never 
forgot  that —  l Earns  pex  ad  harus  picem'  when  one 
priest  meets  another  it's  to  smile !  The  lawyers  are  the 
high  priests  of  the  modern  world.  Only  the  women 
support  the  church." 

"At  least  we  can  thank  God  there  are  only  a  few  such 
men  who  force  their  way  into  decent  society." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  Bivens  answered,  "and  he 
couldn't  do  it  by  the  brute  power  of  his  money  only. 
He  has  brains  and  culture  combined  with  the  daring  of 
the  devil.  Still,  Jim,  most  of  the  big  bugs  who  come 
here  to-night  live  in  glass  houses  and  have  long  ago 
learned  that  it  don't  pay  to  throw  stones." 

A  titled  nobleman  passed,  and  Bivens  winked. 

"The  poor  we  have  with  us  always!" 

Stuart  smiled  and  returned  at  once  to  the  point. 

"Just  what  did  you  mean  by  that  last  remark  about 
glass  houses?" 

"Simply  this,  old  man,  that  all  these  high-browed 
society  people  who  turn  up  their  noses  behind  my  back 
and  marvel  at  my  low  origin  and  speak  in  bated 
whispers  about  my  questionable  financial  strokes  — 


248  The  Root  of  Evil 

all  have  their  little  secrets.  For  my  own  comfort  I've 
made  a  special  study  of  great  fortunes  in  America. 
The  funny  thing  is  that  apparently  every  one  of 
was  founded  on  some  questionable  trick  of 
trade." 

"Not  every  one,  surely." 

"In  my  study  of  the  subject  I  ran  across  a  brilliant 
young  Socialist  by  the  name  of  Gustavus  who  has 
devoted  his  life  to  the  study  of  the  origin  of  these 
fortunes.  He  has  written  a  book  about  them.  I  have 
read  it  in  manuscript.  It  will  fill  four  volumes  when 
completed.  Honestly  I've  laughed  over  it  until  I  cried. 
For  instance,  speaking  of  the  devil,  here  comes  Major 
Viking.  His  people  are  no  longer  in  trade.  Such 
vulgarity  is  beneath  them.  He  comes  here  because 
Fm  supposed  to  be  worth  a  hundred  million  and  belong 
to  the  inner  circle  of  the  elect.  There  are  less  than 
two  dozen  of  us,  you  know." 

"Delighted  to  greet  you,  Major.  My  old  friend  and 
college  mate,  James  Stuart." 

The  proud  head  of  the  house  of  Viking  grasped  Stuart's 
hand  and  gave  it  a  friendly  shake.  His  manner  was 
simple,  unaffected,  manly  and  the  bronzed  look  of  his 
face  told  its  story  of  life  in  the  open. 

"Not  our  distinguished  young  district  attorney 
whom  the  politicians  had  to  get  rid  of?"  he  asked  in 
tones  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"The  very  same,"  Bivens  answered  gravely. 

The  Major  gripped  Stuart's  hand  a  second  time. 

"Then  I  want  to  shake  again  and  offer  you  my  con 
gratulations  on  the  service  you  have  rendered  the 
Nation.  It's  an  honour  to  know  you,  sir." 

Stuart  was  too  much  amazed  at  such  a  speech  to 
reply  before  the  tall  figure  had  disappeared. 

Bivens  pressed  his  arm. 


Some  Inside  Facts  249 

"That's  why  I  could  afford  to  pay  you  a  million  a 
year." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  his  fortune  is  streaked 
with  the  stain  of  fraud?"  Stuart  asked,  in  low  tones. 

"Certainly.  Personally,  he's  a  fine  fellow.  He's  a 
big  man  and  lives  in  a  big  world.  His  fortune  is  not 
less  than  two  hundred  million,  securely  salted  down 
in  gilt-edged  real  estate,  most  of  it.  But  the  original 
fortune  was  made  by  fraud  and  violence  in  the  old  days 
of  colonial  history.  The  elder  Viking  was  a  furrier. 
The  fur  trade  was  enormously  profitable.  Why? 
Because  the  whole  scheme  was  built  on  the  simple 
process  by  which  an  Indian  was  made  drunk  and  in  one 
brief  hour  cheated  out  of  the  results  of  a  year's  work. 
His  agents  never  paid  money  for  skins.  They  first 
used  whiskey  to  blind  their  victims  and  then  traded 
worthless  beads  and  trinkets  for  priceless  treasures  of 
fur.  And  on  such  a  foundation  was  the  great  house 
founded." 

"It's  incredible." 

"The  facts  have  been  published.  If  they  were  not 
true  the  publisher  could  be  driven  out  of  business. 
The  Vikings  maintain  a  dignified  silence.  They  have 
to  do  it,  but  softly,  here  is  the  head  of  the  house  of  Black 
Friday.  Everybody  knows  about  his  father's  sins. 
Yet  he  was  the  friend  and  comrade  of  the  great  who  were 
canonized  while  he  was  cannonaded.  Good  fellow,  too, 
all  the  same  breed  when  you  come  right  down  to  it,  only 
some  of  them  have  the  genius  for  getting  away  with  the 
goods  and  saving  their  reputations  at  the  same  time." 

"For  instance?"  Stuart  asked. 

Bivens  craned  his  neck  toward  the  stairs. 

"There's  one  of  them,  now,  one  of  the  great  railroad 
kings,  not  one  of  your  Western  bounders,  but  the  real 
Eastern,  New  York  patriotic  brand,  one  of  the  brave, 


250  The  Root  of  Evil 

daring  pioneers  who  risked  all  to  push  great  transcon 
tinental  railroads  through  the  trackless  deserts  of  the 
West  —  with  millions  furnished  by  the  government  — 
which  they  dumped  into  their  own  pockets  while  the 
world  was  shouting  their  praises  for  developing  the 
Nation's  resources." 

"My  friend,  Mr.  James  Stuart,  Mr.  Van  Dam." 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  young  lawyer  kept  his 
face  straight  during  those  introductions. 

Van  Dam  bowed  with  grave  courtesy,  and  when  he 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  Bivens's  voice  the  little  dark 
biographer  went  on: 

"Old  Van  Dam,  the  founder  of  the  house,  whose 
palaces  now  crowd  Fifth  Avenue,  was  a  plain-spoken, 
hard-swearing,  God-fearing,  man-hating  old  scoundrel 
who  put  on  no  airs,  but  simply  went  for  what  he  wanted 
and  got  it.  He  was  the  first  big  transportation  king 
we  developed.  His  fortune  was  founded  on  the  twin 
arts  of  bribery  and  blackmail.  The  lobby  he  maintained 
in  secret  collusion  with  his  alleged  rivals  in  Washington 
while  he  was  working  his  subsidy  bills  through  Congress 
was  a  wonder,  even  in  its  day.  He  and  his  rival  with 
two  gangs  of  thieves  publicly  lobbying  against  each 
other  met  in  secret  and  divided  the  spoils  when  the 
campaign  was  over.  If  a  real  rival  succeeded  in  getting 
a  Government  subsidy  for  a  transportation  line  in  which 
he  had  no  share,  his  procedure  was  always  the  same;  he 
began  the  construction  or  equipment  of  a  rival  line  until 
they  bought  him  off  by  a  big  payment  of  monthly 
blackmail.  His  income  from  blackmail  alone  was 
frequently  more  than  a  million  a  year.  His  sons  are 
fine  fellows  and  doubled  the  old  man's  million  sin  bigger, 
cleaner  ways,  as  I've  doubled  mine.  But  it  gives  me 
a  pain  when  these  men  begin  to  nose  around;  inquiring 
about  my  early  history." 


Some  Inside  Facts  251 

"Well,  Cal,"  Stuart  broke  in  with  a  laugh,  "the  one 
thing  I  like  about  you  is  that  you  have  never  been 
ashamed  of  your  humble  origin." 

"Still  I'm  not  without  my  weak  spot,  even  there, 
Jim,"  the  little  man  said,  with  an  accent  of  pain  that 
startled  Stuart. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  see  that  bunch  of  newspaper  reporters  over 
there?  They  are  the  ghosts  that  haunt  my  dreams. 
Oh,  not  what  they'll  say  in  their  dirty  papers.  We  can 
control  that,  we  own  them.  But  there's  a  magazine 
muckraker  among  them.  He  has  nosed  his  way  in 
here  to-night  as  a  reporter,  for  some  devilish  purpose. 
He  has  been  down  in  North  Carolina,  moving  heaven 
and  earth  to  find  my  poor  old  father  and  mother  and 
get  under  my  hide  with  a  biographical  sketch.  He  has 
written  a  volume  of  lies  about  them  already  —  but 
list,  here's  another  one  of  the  great  ones  you  must  know, 
old  Grantly,  the  proud  possessor  of  a  fortune  made  in 
the  services  of  the  Nation  for  the  nominal  consideration 
of  fifty  per  cent,  profit,  a  typical  Civil  War  nabob." 

Bivens  bowed  with  exaggerated  courtesy  to  the  great 
man,  introduced  him  and  said  with  a  quiet  sneer: 

"The  kind  that  makes  me  really  sick  is  the  patriotic 
poser.  I  suppose  it  was  because  my  dad  wasn't  a  very 
brave  soldier. "  He  laughed  quietly.  "Remember  the 
day  you  knocked  those  brutes  down  at  college  for  forc 
ing  me  to  make  a  speech  in  praise  of  my  father's  heroism? 
I  could  have  died  for  you  that  day,  Jim." 

"Oh,  that  was  nothing,"  Stuart  protested  lightly. 

"To  you,  maybe,  but  to  me  —  well,  as  I  was  saying, 
the  great  man  who  just  passed  is  very  proud,  not  only 
because  he  is  a  multi-millionaire  but  because  his  house 
is  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  Nation.  The 
truth  is  that  during  the  Civil  War  he  formed  a  'Union 


252  The  Root  of  Evil 

Defense  Committee'  and  raised  funds  to  carry  on  the 
war.  Incidentally  —  quite  incidentally,  of  course  — 
he  got  contracts  for  supplies  from  the  Government 
and  made  millions  by  the  frauds  he  practised.  One 
of  his  tricks  was  the  importation  of  worthless  arms  from 
Europe  which  he  sold  the  Government  at  normous 
profits.  He  made  more  than  a  half-million  selling  these 
worthless  guns  to  the  State  authorities  of  the  North. 
The  Hall  Carbine  was  his  favourite  weapon,  a  gun  that 
would  blow  the  fingers  off  the  soldier  who  tried  to  shoot 
it,  but  was  never  known  to  do  any  harm  to  the  man  who 
stood  in  front  of  it.  I  never  knew  what  the  fellow 
meant  when  he  said  '  Patriotism  is  the  last  refuge  of  a 
scoundrel/  until  I  became  personally  acquainted  with 
that  gentleman." 

Bivens  bent  low  and  whispered: 

"The  sweetest  memory  of  my  life  is  that  I  pulled  a 
couple  of  millions  of  wool  out  of  his  hide  in  the  recent 
panic.  Jim,  you  love  to  hunt.  You  don't  know  what 
real  sport  is  until  you  jump  a  skunk  like  that  in  a  panic. 
You  go  all  the  way  to  Virginia  to  shoot  ducks.  When 
you  get  to  my  office  in  Wall  Street  I'll  take  you  on  a 
hunt  you'll  not  forget.  What's  the  use  to  waste  your 
time  for  a  whole  day  trying  to  kill  a  poor  little  duck 
when  there  are  hundreds  of  big,  fat,  juicy  animals  like 
that  roaming  around  loose  in  New  York! " 

"I  see,"  Stuart  laughed,  "that's  what  you  mean  by 
the  game." 

"Surely,  my  boy,  —  it's  the  only  game  worth  playing, 
this  big  red  game  of  life  and  death  with  a  two-footed 
human  beast  the  quarry." 

Bivens's  little  swarthy  figure  suddenly  stiffened  and 
his  black  eyes  flashed.  He  looked  up  the  stairs  and  a 
smile  lighted  his  face. 

"Now,  Jim,  here  comes  one  into  whose  hide  I  know 


Some  Inside  Facts  253 

you'd  enjoy  putting  a  harpoon  —  a  pillar  of  the  church. 
Look  at  the  cut  of  those  solemn  Presbyterian  whiskers. 
It  makes  me  faint  to  remember  how  many  times  I've 
tried  and  failed  to  get  my  hooks  into  him.  I  know  you 
could  land  the  deacon.  I'd  joyfully  give  you  a  million 
just  to  see  him  wriggle  in  my  hands." 

Bivens  grasped  his  hand  with  pious  unction. 

"A  glorious  night,  deacon.  I  know  yoii  won't  stay  for 
the  ball,  but  if  you'll  do  justice  to  the  dinner  I'll  forgive 
you." 

The  deacon  murmured  his  thanks  and  hurried  on. 

"It's  evident  that  however  much  he  loves  the  Lord 
he  don't  love  you,  Cal." 

"No,  he's  just  afraid  of  me.  That's  why  he  came 
to-night.  Jim,  if  you  can  get  even  with  him  for  me, 
I'd  give  vou  the  half  of  my  kingdom." 

"Why  don't  you  like  him?" 

"Because  he  has  slipped  through  my  hands  like  an 
eel  every  time  I  thought  I  had  him.  His  specialty  is 
piety.  That  makes  me  tired.  I'm  a  church  member 
ntyself,  but  I  don't  trade  on  my  piety." 

"Well,  there  couldn't  have  been  anything  crooked 
about  his  fortune?" 

Bivens  chuckled  softly. 

"No.  It  was  a  masterpiece  of  fine  art!  His  father 
was  the  original  founder  of  the  importing  trade  graft. 
He  was  the  first  man  to  discover  that  a  colossal  fortune 
could  be  made  over  night  by  swindling  the  United  States 
Government  at  the  port  of  New  York.  His  people  have 
been  noted  for  their  solid  and  substantial  standing  in 
the  business  world.  The  head  of  the  house  was  known 
as  the  premier  among  the  high-toned  business  men  of 
the  old  school.  His  family  set  up  his  statue  in  a  public 
square  in  New  York.  I  suppose  they  bribed  the  city 
fathers  to  get  a  permit.  Well,  one  day  before  this 


254  The  Root  of  Evil 

statue  was  unveiled  a  plain  little  honest  fool  of  a  U.  S. 
Treasury  agent  got  onto  the  old  man's  curves  and  the 
Government  brought  suit  for  a  part  of  what  he  had 
stolen.  Old  William  Crookes  paid  into  the  Treasury 
the  neat  sum  of  one  million  and  compromised  the  case. 
Some  of  his  modern  imitators  with  their  false  weights 
and  scales  haven't  been  so  wise." 

"The  world  has  never  heard  of  this  —  that's  funny!" 
Stuart  exclaimed. 

"Not  so  funny,  Jim,  when  you  think  of  the  power 
of  money  to  make  the  world  forget.  God  only  knows 
how  many  fortunes  in  America  had  their  origin  in 
thefts  from  the  Nation  during  the  Civil  War,  and  the 
systematic  frauds  that  have  been  practised  on  our 
Government  since.  I've  turned  some  pretty  sharp 
tricks,  Jim,  in  stalking  my  game  in  this  big  man-hunt 
of  Wall  Street,  but  at  least  I've  never  robbed  the 
wounded  or  the  dead  on  a  battlefield  and  I've  never  used 
a  dark  lantern  to  get  into  the  Government  vaults  at 
Washington.  I'm  not  asking  you  to  stand  for  that." 

"If  you  did- 

"  Yes,  I  know  the  answer,  but  speak  softly,  his  majesty 
the  king  approaches  —  long  live  the  king!" 

Bivens  spoke  in  low,  half-joking  tones,  but  the  excite 
ment  of  his  voice  told  Stuart  only  too  plainly  that  he 
fully  appreciated  the  royal  honour  his  majesty  was  pay 
ing  in  this  the  first  social  visit  he  had  ever  made  to  his 
home. 

The  little  financier's  eyes  danced  with  pleasure  and 
his  delicate  hand  trembled  as  he  extended  it  to  the  great 
one. 

The  king  gave  him  a  pleasant  nod  and  grasped  Stuart's 
hand  with  a  hearty  cordial  grip.  He  was  a  man  of 
few  words,  but  he  always  said  exactly  what  he  thought. 

"I'm  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Stuart.     You've  done  us 


Some  Inside  Facts  255 

a  good  turn  in  sending  some  of  our  crooks  to  the  peni 
tentiary.  You've  cleared  the  air  and  made  it  possible 
for  an  old-fashioned  banker  to  breathe  in  New  York. 
It's  a  pleasure  to  shake  hands  with  you." 

The  king  passed  on  into  the  crowd,  the  focus  of  a 
hundred  admiring  eyes.  Bivens  could  scarcely  believe 
his  ears  when  he  listened  with  open  mouth  while  his 
majesty  spoke  to  Stuart. 

"Great  Scott,  Jim!"  he  gasped  at  last.  "That's 
the  longest  speech  I  ever  heard  him  make.  I  knew 
you  had  scored  the  biggest  hit  any  lawyer  has  made  in 
this  town  in  a  generation,  but  I  never  dreamed  you'd 
capture  the  king's  imagination.  I'm  beginning  to  think 
my  offer  wasn't  so  generous  after  all.  Look  here,  you've 
got  to  promise  me  one  thing  right  now.  When  you  do 
go  in  to  make  your  pile  it  shall  be  with  me  and  no  other 
man." 

Nan  passed  and  threw  him  a  gracious  smile. 

"It  will  be  with  you,  if  I  go,  Cal,  I  promise." 

"Well,  it's  settled,  then.  Your  word's  as  good  as  a 
Government  bond.  His  majesty  is  in  a  gracious  mood 
to-night.  Watch  him  unbend  and  chat  with  the 
boys." 

"At  least,  Cal,"  Stuart  broke  in,  jokingly,  "there's 
one  exception  to  your  indictment  of  all  great  fortunes." 

"That's  the  funniest  thing  of  all,"  Bivens  whispered. 
"He's  not  an  exception.  Understand,  I'm  loyal  to  the 
king.  He's  a  wonder.  I  like  him.  I  like  his  big  head, 
his  big  shaggy  eyebrows,  his  big  hands  and  big  feet. 
I  like  to  hear  him  growl  and  snap  his  answer —  'Yes', 
'No' — that  means  life  or  death  to  men  who  kneel  at 
his  feet.  He's  a  dead  game  sport.  But  he,  too,  has  his 
little  blots  in  his  early  copy-books  at  school  if  you  care 
to  turn  the  pages. " 

"No!"  Stuart  interrupted,  incredulously. 


256  The  Root  of  Evil 

Bivens  glanced  about  to  make  sure  he  could  not  be 
overheard  and  continued  in  low  tones. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  turned  the  slickest  trick  on  Uncle  Sam 
of  all  the  bunch.  He  was  a  youngster  and  it  was  his 
first  deal.  When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  the  Govern 
ment  had  no  guns  for  the  volunteers.  He  learned  that 
there  were  5,000  old  Hall  carbines  stored  away  among 
the  junk  in  one  of  the  national  arsenals  in  New  York. 
He  bought  these  guns  (on  a  credit)  for  a  song  —  about 
$3  apiece — and  shipped  them  to  General  Fremont,  who 
was  in  St.  Louis  howling  for  arms.  Fremont  agreed  to 
pay  $22.50  each  for  the  new  rifles  and  closed  the  deal 
at  once  by  drawing  on  the  Government  for  enough  to 
enable  the  young  buccaneer  to  pay  his  $3~contract 
price  to  Uncle  Sam  in  New  York  and  lay  aside  a  snug 
sum  for  a  rainy  day  besides. 

When  Fremont  found  that  the  guns  were  worthless, 
he  advised  the  Government  to  stop  payment  on  the 
balance.  It  was  stopped  on  the  ground  of  fraud.  And 
then  the  youngster  showed  the  stuff  he  was  made  of. 
Did  he  crawl  and  apologize?  Not  much.  He  sued  the 
United  States  Government  for  the  full  amount  and 
pushed  that  suit  to  the  Supreme  Court.  In  the  face 
of  the  sneers  of  his  enemies  he  won,  and  took  the  full 
amount  with  interest.  He's  the  king  to-day  because 
he  was  born  a  king.  His  father  was  a  millionaire  be 
fore  him.  He's  the  greatest  financial  genius  of  the 
century." 

Bivens  paused  and  a  dreamy  look  came  into  the 
black  eyes. 

"Jim,"  he  continued  with  slow  emphasis,  "I'd  rather 
get  my  fingers  on  his  throat  in  a  death-struggle  than 
lead  the  combined  armies  of  the  world  to  victory." 

Stuart  was  silent. 

The  financier  moved  uneasily  and  asked : 


Some  Inside  Facts  257 

"What  are  you  brooding  over  now?" 

"I  was  just  wondering  why  the  devil  youVe  taken 
the  pains  to  tell  me  all  these  incredible  stories  about 
the  great  ones  here  to-night?" 

"And  I  answer  with  perfect  frankness.  When  you 
come  in  with  me  it  must  be  with  your  whole  soul,  with 
out  a  single  reservation.  When  it  comes  to  the  critical 
moment  of  your  decision  it  may  turn  on  a  sentimental 
whim  —  a  question  of  high-browed  honour.  I  want  you 
to  come  with  your  eyes  wide  open.  I  want  you  to  know 
that  I'm  no  better,  no  worse,  than  the  best  of  the  big 
ones  whose  names  fill  the  world  with  awe.  Every  word 
I've  told  you  about  them  is  true  and  a  great  deal  more 
that  will  never  be  told;  and  mind  you  there's  not  a 
Jew  among  the  fellows  I've  sketched.  There  are  two 
men  in  New  York  of  old  Scotch  ancestry  who  have 
more  money  than  the  whole  Hebrew  race  in  America." 

"The  stuff  you've  told  me  seems  beyond  belief." 

"Exactly.  That's  why  I  wanted  you  to  know.  The 
truth  is,  Jim,  you'd  just  as  well  face  it  at  once.  I  am 
asking  you  to  resign  your  place  in  the  old  academic 
world  to  enter  commerce,  the  real  modern  world. 
Commerce  is  built  on  the  power  to  over-reach.  Isn't  de 
ceit  the  foundation  of  all  successful  trade?  The  butcher, 
the  baker,  the  candle-stick  maker,  the  banker,  the 
broker — their  business  is  all  alike.  A  trader  is  a  trader, 
one  who  clutches  and  fights  his  competitor  and  lays 
traps  for  his  customers,  in  short,  his  victims.  A  trader 
is  one  who  by  hook  or  crook  beats  down  the  price  at 
which  he  will  buy  below  its  market  value  and  marks 
it  up  to  the  limit  of  his  victim's  credulity  when  he  sells. 
That's  the  grain  of  truth  beneath  the  mountain  of  chaff 
in  the  old  aristocratic  hatred  of  people  who  are  in  trade. 
The  world  has  outgrown  this  hatred.  The  age  of  the 
aristocrat  is  past." 


25 8  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that/'  Stuart  answered,  thought 
fully.  "The  old  aristocracy  had  their  weaknesses. 
They  were  always  gamblers  and  the  devotees  of  licen 
tiousness.  But  they  despised  lying  and  stealing.  And 
the  feudal  code  of  the  old  patrician  bred  a  high  type 
of  man.  The  new  code  of  the  liar  has  not  yet  made  this 
demonstration.  The  grace,  elegance,  breeding  and 
culture  of  the  past  are  no  longer  binding  laws  on  the 
new  masters  of  the  world.  I  think  you  may  get  on  a 
while  without  the  patrician,  but  the  question  is  how 
long  can  you  live  without  his  virtues?  " 

An  answer  was  on  Bivens's  lips  when  the  soft  tones  of 
hidden  oriental  gongs  began  to  chime  the  call  for  dinner. 
The  chimes  melted  into  a  beautiful  piece  of  orchestral 
music  which  seemed  to  steal  from  the  sky,  so  skilfully 
had  the  musicians  been  concealed. 

Nan  suddenly  appeared  by  Stuart's  side,  and  he  was 
given  the  honour  of  leading  his  hostess  into  the  banquet 
hall,  before  even  the  king,  while  the  great  ones  of  earth 
slowly  followed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   DANCE    OF    DEATH 

A  flush  of  excited  pleasure  overspread  Stuart's  face 
as  he  led  his  beautiful  hostess  to  the  dining  room. 

He  paused  at  the  entrance  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise: 

"Well,  of  all  the  wonders!" 

"But  you  can't  stop  yet!"  whispered  Nan,  drawing 
him  gently  on. 

Apparently  on  entering  the  banquet  hall  they  were 
stepping  outdoors  into  an  enchanted  pine  forest.  The 
walls  were  completely  hidden  by  painted  scenery  rep 
resenting  the  mountains  of  western  North  Carolina. 
The  room  had  been  transformed  into  a  forest,  trees 
and  shrubbery  melting  imperceptibly  into  the  scenery 
on  the  walls,  and  mocking  birds  were  singing  in  cages 
hidden  high  among  the  boughs  of  the  trees. 

Stuart  gazed  at  the  great  panorama  painting  on  the 
wall,  fascinated. 

"Why,  Nan,"  he  gasped,  "that's  a  view  of  the  river 
hills  at  home  where  you  and  I  used  to  roam." 

"Well,  if  you  hadn't  recognized  it,  I  should  never 
have  forgiven  you." 

"How  on  earth  did  your  artists  get  it  so  perfectly?  " 

"I  sent  him  there,  of  course.  He  did  it  in  three 
weeks.  There's  something  else  in  that  picture  I  thought 
you'd  see,  too." 

"Isn't  it  now!"  Stuart  laughed,  as  they  reached  the 
head  of  the  central  table.  A  boy  and  girl  sitting 

259 


260  The  Root  of  Evil 

on  a  fence  looking  down  at   the  river  in  the  valley 
below.7' 

"The  very  spot  we  found  that  quail's  nest,  you  re 
member.  You  see  IVe  begun  to  rebuild  your  dream- 
life  to-night,  Jim." 

"It's  marvellous!"  he  answered  slowly.  "And  there 
in  the  distance  loom  the  three  ranges  of  our  old  moun 
tains  until  their  dim  blue  peaks  are  lost  in  the  clouds. 
These  tables  seem  spread  for  a  picnic  in  the  woods  on 
the  hills." 

"Are  you  pleased  with  my  fantasy?"  she  asked  with 
quiet  emotion. 

"Pleased  is  not  the  word  for  it,"  he  replied  quickly. 
"I'm  overwhelmed.  I  never  thought  you  so  senti 
mental." 

"Perhaps  I'm  not,  perhaps  I've  only  done  this  to 
please  a  friend.  Do  you  begin  to  feel  at  home  in  this 
little  spot  IVe  brought  back  by  magic  to-night  from 
our  youth?" 

"I'm  afraid  I'll  wake  and  find  I'm  dreaming." 

Stuart  gazed  on  the  magnificently  set  table  with  increas 
ing  astonishment.  Winding  in  and  out  among  the  solid 
silver  candelabra  a  tiny  stream  of  crystal  water  flowed 
among  miniature  trees  and  flowers  on  its  banks.  The 
flowers  were  all  blooming  orchids  of  rarest  colouring  and 
weirdly  fantastic  shapes. 

" Those  hideous  little  flowers  cost  a  small  fortune," 
Nan  exclaimed.  "I'm  ashamed  to  tell  you  how  much 
—  I  don't  like  them  myself,  I'm  frank  to  say  so  to  you. 
But  they  are  the  rage.  I  prefer  those  gorgeous  bowers 
of  American  beauty  roses,  the  canopies  to  shade  my 
guests  from  the  rays  of  my  artificial  sun  shining  through 
the  trees.  You  see  how  skilfully  the  artist  has  lighted 
the  place.  It  looks  exactly  like  a  sunset  in  a  pine  forest." 

Stuart  noted  that  the  service  was  all  made  for  this 


The  Dance  of  Death  261 

occasion,  silver,  cut  glass,  and  china.  Each  piece  had 
stamped  or  etched  in  it  the  coat  of  arms  of  his  native 
state,  "  Peace  and  Plenty." 

"And  you've  done  all  this  in  six  weeks?  It's  incredi 
ble." 

"Money  can  do  anything,  Jim,"  she  cried  under  her 
breath.  "It's  the  fairy  queen  of  our  childhood  and  the 
God  of  our  ancient  faith  come  down  to  earth.  You 
really  like  my  banquet  hall?" 

"More  than  I  can  tell  you." 

Nan  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"The  world  will  say  to-morrow  morning  that  I  have 
given  this  lavish  entertainment  for  vulgar  display. 
In  a  sense  it's  true.  I  am  trying  to  eclipse  in  splendour 
anything  New  York  has  seen.  But  I  count  the  fortune 
it  cost  well  spent  to  have  seen  the  smile  on  your  face 
when  you  looked  at  that  painting  of  our  old  hills.  I 
would  have  given  five  times  as  much  at  any  moment 
the  past  ten  years  to  have  known  that  you  didn't  hate 
me." 

"You  know  it  now." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  tenderly.  "You  have  said 
so  with  your  lips  before,  now  you  mean  it.  You  are 
your  old  handsome  self  to-night." 

Apart  from  the  charm  of  Nan's  presence  Stuart 
found  the  dinner  itself  a  stupid  affair,  so  solemnly  stupid 
it  at  last  became  funny.  In  all  the  magnificently  dressed 
crowd  he  looked  in  vain  for  a  man  or  woman  of  real 
intellectual  distinction.  He  saw  only  money,  money, 
money ! 

There  was  one  exception — the  titled  degenerates  from 
the  Old  World,  hovering  around  the  richest  and  silliest 
women,  their  eyes  glittering  with  eager  avarice  for  a 
chance  at  their  millions.  It  seemed  a  joke  that  any  sane 
American  mother  could  conceive  the  idea  of  selling  her 


262  The  Root  of  Evil 

daughter  to  these  wretches  in  exchange  for  the  empty 
sham  of  a  worm-eaten  dishonoured  title.  And  yet  it 
had  become  so  common  that  the  drain  on  the  national 
resources  from  this  cause  constitutes  a  menace  to  our 
future. 

In  spite  of  the  low  murmurs  of  Nan's  beautifully 
modulated  voice  in  his  ears,  he  found  his  anger  slowly 
rising,  not  against  any  one  in  particular,  but  against 
the  vulgar  ostentation  in  which  these  people  moved  and 
the  vapid  assumption  of  superiority  with  which  they 
evidently  looked  out  upon  the  world. 

But  whatever  might  have  been  lacking  in  the  wit  and 
genius  of  the  guests  who  sat  at  Nan's  tables,  there  could 
be  no  question  about  the  quality  of  the  dinner  set  before 
them.  When  the  Roman  Empire  was  staggering  to 
its  ruin  amid  the  extravagancies  of  its  corrupt  emperors, 
not  one  of  them  ever  gave  a  banquet  which  approx 
imated  half  the  cost  of  this.  The  best  old  Nero  ever 
did  with  his  flowers  was  to  cover  the  floors  of  his  ban 
quet  hall  with  cut  roses  that  his  guests  might  crush 
them  beneath  their  feet.  But  flowers  were  cheap  in 
sunny  Italy.  Nan's  orchids  alone  on  her  tables  cost 
in  Roman  money  a  hundred  thousand  sesterces,  while 
the  paintings,  trees,  shrubbery,  water  and  light  effects 
necessary  to  transform  the  room  into  a  miniature 
forest  cost  five  hundred  thousand  sesterces,  or  a  total 
of  thirty  thousand  dollars  for  the  decorations  of  the 
banquet  hall  alone. 

When  the  feast  ended  at  ten  thirty  the  sun  had  set 
behind  the  blue  mountains,  the  moon  risen,  and  hun 
dreds  of  fire  flies  were  floating  from  the  foliage  of  trees 
and  shrubs. 

Nan  led  the  way  to  the  ball  room,  where  the  enter 
tainment  by  hired  dancers,  singers,  and  professional 
entertainers  began  on  an  improvised  stage. 


The  Dance  of  Death  263 

During  this  part  of  the  programme  the  women  and 
men  of  the  banqueting  party  who  were  to  appear  in  the 
fancy-dress  ball  at  twelve  retired  to  the  rooms  above 
to  dress  for  their  parts. 

Nan  left  Stuart  with  a  pretty  sigh  to  arrange  her 
costume. 

"I'm  sorry  you  never  learned  to  dance,  Jim,  but  there 
are  compensations  to-night.  I've  a  surprise  for  you 
later." 

Before  he  could  reply,  with  a  wave  of  her  bare  arm, 
she  was  gone,  and  he  stood  for  a  moment  wondering  what 
further  surprise  could  be  in  store  after  what  he  had 
seen. 

He  noted  with  some  astonishment  the  peculiar  sombre 
effects  of  the  ball  room.  He  had  expected  a  scene  of 
splendour.  Instead  the  impression  was  distinctly 
funereal.  The  lights  were  dimmed  like  the  interior  of 
a  theatre  during  the  performance  and  the  lofty  gilded 
ceilings  with  their  mural  decorations  seemed  to  be 
draped  in  filmy  black  crepe. 

The  professional  entertainment  began  on  the  little 
stage  amid  a  universal  gabble  which  made  it  impossible 
for  anything  save  pantomime  to  be  intelligible  beyond  the 
footlights.  Star  after  star,  whose  services  had  cost 
$1,000  each  for  one  hour,  appeared  without  command 
ing  the  slightest  attention.  At  last  there  was  a  hush 
and  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  stage.  Stuart  looked  up 
quickly  to  see  what  miracle  had  caused  the  silence. 

An  oriental  dancing  girl,  barefooted  and  naked  save 
for  the  slightest  suggestion  of  covering  about  her  waist 
and  bust,  was  the  centre  of  attraction.  For  five  minutes 
she  held  the  crowd  spell-bound  with  a  dance  so  beau 
tifully  sensual  no  theatrical  manager  would  have  dared 
present  it.  Yet  it  was  received  by  the  only  burst  of 
applause  which  broke  the  monotony  of  the  occasion. 


264  The  Root  of  Evil 

Stuart  turned  to  the  program  in  his  hand  and  idly 
read  the  next  number: 

"A  song  by  an  unknown  star." 

He  was  wondering  what  joke  the  manager  was  about 
to  perpetrate  on  the  crowd  when  his  ear  caught  the  first 
sweet  notes  of  Harriet's  voice  singing  the  old  song  he 
loved  so  well,  the  song  she  had  first  sung  the  day  he 
came  from  the  South. 

His  heart  gave  a  throb  of  pain.  Who  could  have 
prepared  this  humiliation  for  his  little  pal!  He  pushed 
his  way  through  the  throng  of  chattering  fools  until  he 
stood  alone  straight  in  front  of  the  slender  little  singer. 
She  saw  him  at  once,  smiled,  and  sang  as  he  had  never 
heard  her  sing.  Her  eyes  shone  with  a  strange  light  and 
Stuart  knew  she  was  in  the  spirit  world.  The  rabble  of 
ignorant  men  and  women  before  her  did  not  exist. 
She  was  singing  to  an  invisible  audience  save  for  the 
one  man  who  looked  up  into  her  eyes,  his  heart  bursting 
with  sympathy  and  tenderness. 

To  his  further  surprise  Stuart  saw  the  doctor  stand 
ing  in  the  shadows  at  the  corner  of  the  stage  looking 
over  the  gossiping,  noisy  crowd  with  a  look  of  anger 
and  horror. 

When  the  last  note  of  the  song  died  away,  quivering 
with  a  supernatural  tenderness  and  passion,  he  brushed 
a  tear  from  his  eyes,  lifted  his  hands  high  above  his  head 
and  made  a  motion  which  said  to  her:  " Tumultuous 
applause!" 

She  nodded  and  smiled  and  he  rushed  behind  the 
scenes  to  ask  an  explanation. 

He  grasped  both  her  hands  and  found  them  cold  and 
trembling  with  excitement. 

"What  on  earth,  does  this  mean?" 

"Simply  that  I  was  engaged  to  sing  to-night  —  and  I 
wanted  to  surprise  you.  Didn't  you  like  my  song?  " 


The  Dance  of  Death  265 

Stuart  held  her  hands  tightly. 

"I  never  heard  you  sing  so  divinely!" 

"Then  I'm  very  happy." 

"How  could  you  sing  at  all  under  such  conditions?" 

"I  had  one  good  listener." 

"I  could  have  killed  them  because  they  wouldn't 
hear  you." 

"But  you  enjoyed  it?" 

"It  lifted  me  to  the  gates  of  heaven,  dear." 

"Then  I  don't  care  whether  any  one  else  heard  it  or 
not.  But  I  did  so  much  wish  that  she  might  have  heard 
it,  or  her  husband,  because  they  are  from  the  South. 
I  thought  they  would  be  as  charmed  with  the  old  song 
as  you  have  always  been  and  I'd  make  a  hit  with  them, 
perhaps." 

"But  I  don't  understand,  your  father  hates  Bivens  so." 

A  big  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  he  turned  and 
faced  the  doctor  smiling. 

"But  I  don't  hate  him,  my  boy!  I've  given  up 
such  foolishness.  We've  buried  the  hatchet.  I'm 
to  see  him  in  a  few  minutes  and  we  are  to  be  good 
friends." 

"Bivens  invited  you  here  to  discuss  a  business  prop 
osition  to-night!"  Stuart  exclaimed,  blankly. 

"No,  no,  no,"  the  doctor  answered.  "I  came  with 
Harriet,  of  course.  Her  music  teacher  placed  her  on 
the  programme.  But  Mr.  Bivens  and  I  have  had  some 
correspondence  and  I'm  to  see  him  in  a  little  while  and 
talk  things  over  quite  informally,  of  course,  but  effec 
tively." 

"He  has  agreed  to  a  conference  here?"  the  young 
lawyer  asked,  anxiously. 

"Why,  of  course.  His  butler  has  just  told  me  he 
would  see  me  immediately  after  the  ball  begins." 

Stuart  breathed  easier. 


266  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Then  it's  all  right.  I  was  just  going  to  suggest 
that  I  speak  to  Mr.  Bivens  for  you." 

"Not  at  all,  my  boy,  not  necessary,  I  assure  you. 
It  will  be  all  right.  In  five  minutes'  talk  our  little 
differences  will  all  be  settled/' 

"If  I  can  be  of  any  service,  you'll  let  me  know?" 

"Certainly,"  the  doctor  replied  with  a  frown,  "but 
the  whole  thing  is  settled  already.  Still,  I  appreciate 
your  offer." 

Stuart  was  worried.  He  could  not  press  the  matter 
further.  He  was  sure  from  the  sensitive  tones  in  which 
his  old  friend  declined  his  help  that  his  dignity  was  hurt 
by  the  offer.  He  was  positive  there  was  a  misunder 
standing  somewhere.  The  doctor's  optimism  had  led 
him  into  an  embarrassing  situation  and  yet  his  asso 
ciation  with  Bivens  as  his  first  employer  had  surely 
given  him  some  knowledge  of  his  character. 

He  hesitated,  about  to  speak,  changed  his  mind,  and 
turned  to  Harriet. 

"You  look  glorious  to-night,  little  pal!  Funny  that 
I  never  saw  you  in  evening  dress  before.  You  look  so 
tall  and  queenly,  so  grown,  so  mature.  You're  begin 
ning  to  make  me  feel  old,  child.  I'll  be  thinking  of 
you  as  a  grown  woman  next." 

"I  am  twenty-two,  you  know,"  she  said,  simply. 

"I  have  never  believed  it  until  to-night.  I  wouldn't 
have  known  you  at  first  but  for  your  voice.  I  had  to 
rub  my  eyes  then." 

A  warm  blush  tinged  the  pink  and  white  of  the  sen 
sitive  face. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I  can't  tell  you  how  sweet  your  Southern 
blarney  is  to  my  heart!  I  dreamed  of  a  triumph  of 
art.  I  saw  it  was  impossible  before  I  sang,  and  now  the 
pretty  things  you've  said  have  taken  all  the  sting  out 
of  defeat  and  I'm  happy." 


The  Dance  of  Death  -  267 

"Then  I'm  glad,  dear." 

He  paused,  leaned  close  and  whispered : 

"Won't  you  let  me  know  when  your  father  has  seen 
Mr.  Bivens?  If  this  conference  doesn't  go  well  I  may 
be  of  some  help." 

"All  right,  I'll  let  you  know." 

The  lights  were  suddenly  turned  lower,  approaching 
total  darkness.  The  attendants  noiselessly  removed 
the  temporary  stage  and  cleared  the  great  room  for 
the  dancers. 

As  the  chimes  struck  the  hour  of  midnight,  skeleton 
heads  slowly  began  to  appear  peeping  from  the  shadows 
of  the  arched  ceiling  and  from  every  nook  and  corner 
of  the  huge  cornice  and  pillars.  Draperies  of  filmy 
crepe  flowing  gently  in  the  breeze  were  lighted  by  sul- 
phurous-hued  electric  rays  from  the  balconies.  Tiny 
electric  lights  blinked  in  every  skeleton's  sunken  eyes 
and  behind  each  grinning  row  of  teeth. 

Again  the  chatter  of  fools  was  suddenly  hushed. 
The  orchestra  began  a  weird  piece  of  music  that  sent 
the  cold  chills  rippling  down  Stuart's  spine.  Harriet's 
hand  gripped  his. 

"Heavens!"  she  whispered.  "Did  you  ever  dream 
of  such  a  nightmare!" 

Suddenly  two  white  figures  drew  aside  the  heavy 
curtains  in  the  archway  and  the  dancers  marched  into 
the  sombre  room. 

The  men  were  dressed  as  shrouded  skeletons,  and 
the  women  as  worms.  The  men  wore  a  light  flimsy 
gray  robe  on  which  skilful  artists  had  painted  on  four 
sides  in  deep  colours  the  picture  of  a  human  skeleton. 

The  women  wore  a  curious  light  robe  of  cotton  fibre 
which  was  drawn  over  the  entire  body  and  gave  to  each 
figure  the  appearance  of  a  huge  caterpillar. 

From  the  high  perch  of  a  balcony  a  sepulchral  voice  cried : 


268  The  Root  of  Evil 

"The  Dance  of  Death  and  the  Worm!" 

The  strange  figures  began  to  move  slowly  across  the 
polished  floor  to  the  strains  of  a  ghost-like  waltz. 

From  the  corners  of  the  high  balconies  strange  lights 
flashed,  developing  in  hideous  outlines  the  phosphor 
escent  colors  of  the  skeletons  and  long,  fuzzy,  exaggerated 
lines  of  the  accompanying  worms.  The  effect  was 
thrilling.  Every  sound  save  the  soft  swish  of  the 
ghastly  robes  and  the  delicate  footfall  of  ghostly  feet 
ceased.  Not  a  whisper  from  a  sap-headed  youth  or  a 
yap  from  an  aged  degenerate  or  a  giggle  from  a  silly 
woman  broke  the  death-like  stillness. 

Suddenly  the  music  stopped  with  a  crash.  Each 
ghostly  couple,  skeleton  and  worm,  stood  motionless. 
The  silvery  note  of  a  trumpet  called  from  the  sky. 
The  blinking  eyes  of  the  death-heads  in  the  ceiling  and 
on  the  walls  faded  slowly.  The  figures  of  the  dancers 
moved  uneasily  in  the  darkness.  The  trumpet  pealed 
a  second  signal  —  the  darkness  fled,  and  the  great  room 
suddenly  blazed  with  ten  thousand  electric  lights. 
The  orchestra  struck  the  first  notes  of  a  thrilling  waltz, 
and  presto!  —  in  an  instant  the  women  appeared  in  all 
the  splendour  of  the  most  gorgeous  gowns,  their  bare 
arms  and  necks  flashing  with  priceless  jewels  and  each 
man,  but  a  moment  ago  a  hideous  skeleton,  bowed 
before  her  in  immaculate  evening  clothes. 

Just  at  the  moment  each  caterpillar  threw  to  her 
attendant  her  disguise,  from  the  four  corners  of  the 
vast  room  were  released  thousands  of  gorgeously  tinted 
butterflies,  imported  from  the  tropics  for  the  occasion. 
As  the  dancers  glided  through  the  dazzling  scene  these 
wonderfully  coloured  creatures  fluttered  about  them  in 
myriads,  darting  and  circling  in  every  direction  among 
the  flowers  and  lights  until  the  room  seemed  a  veritable 
fairyland. 


The  Dance  of  Death  269 

A  burst  of  applause  swept  the  crowd,  as  Nan's  radiant 
figure  passed,  encircled  by  the  arm  of  the  leader. 

Stuart  nodded  and  clapped  his  hands  with  enthusiasm. 

A  more  marvellous  transformation  scene  could 
scarcely  be  imagined. 

When  Nan  had  passed  he  turned  to  speak  to  Harriet 
and  she  had  gone.  He  felt  a  moment's  pain  at  the 
disappointment,  but  before  he  could  find  her  the  music 
ceased,  the  dancers  paused  and  the  swaying  of  the 
crowd  made  his  search  vain. 

A  soft  hand  was  suddenly  laid  on  his  arm,  and  he 
turned  to  confront  Nan,  her  eyes  flashing  with  triumph, 
her  cheeks  flushed,  and  her  lips  parted  in  a  tender  smile. 

"Well?"  she  asked  in  low  tones. 

"You're  a  magician,  Nan,"  he  answered  with  en 
thusiasm. 

"Come,  I'm  going  to  honour  you  by  sitting  out  the 
next  two  dances,  and  if  you're  very  good,  perhaps 
more." 

When  she  had  seated  herself  by  his  side  under  a  bower 
of  roses  he  was  very  still  for  a  moment.  She  looked  up 
with  a  quizzical  expression  and  said: 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts?  Am  I  so  very  wicked 
after  all?" 

Stuart  crossed  his  long  legs  and  looked  at  her 
admiringly. 

"I'll  be  honest,"  he  said  with  deliberation.  "I  don't 
think  I  have  ever  seen  anything  more  dazzlingly  beau 
tiful  than  your  banquet  and  ball,  except " 

"Except  what!"  she  interrupted  sharply. 

"Except  the  woman  who  conceived  and  executed  it." 

"That's  better,  but  you  must  give  the  credit  to  the 
artists  I  hired." 

'"In  a  measure,  yes;  but  their  plans  were  submitted 
for  your  approval.  I  was  just  wondering  whether  your 


270  The  Root  of  Evil 

imagination  was  vivid  enough  to  have  dreamed  half  the 
splendours  of  such  a  life  when  you  turned  from  the  little 
cottage  I  built  for  you." 

A  look  of  pain  clouded  the  fair  face  and  she  lifted  her 
jewelled  hand. 

"Please,  Jim,  I'd  like  to  forget  some  things." 

"And  you  haven't  forgotten?" 

She  looked  straight  into  his  eyes  and  answered  in 
even  tones. 

"No." 

He  studied  the  magnificent  pearl  necklace  that  cir 
cled  her  throat.  Its  purchase  had  made  a  sensation 
in  New  York.  The  papers  were  full  of  it  at  the  time 
Bivens  had  bought  it  at  an  auction  in  Paris,  bidding 
successfully  against  the  agents  of  the  Tzar  of  Russia. 
Never  had  he  seen  Nan  so  ravishing.  Magnificent 
gowns,  soft  laces,  and  jewelry  were  made  to  be  worn  by 
such  women.  There  was  an  eternal  fitness  in  the  whole 
scheme  of  things  in  which  this  glorious  creature  of  the 
senses  lived  and  moved  and  had  her  being. 

"I  suppose,"  he  began  musingly,  "I  ought,  as  a 
patriotic  citizen  of  the  Republic,  to  condemn  the 
enormous  waste  of  wealth  you  have  made  here  to-night." 

"Yes,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"I  ought  to  tell  you  how  many  tears  you  could  wipe 
away  with  it,  how  much  suffering  you  could  soften, 
how  many  young  lives  you  could  save  from  misery  and 
shame,  how  many  of  life's  sunsets  you  could  have 
turned  from  darkness  into  the  glory  of  quiet  joy;  and 
yet,  somehow,  I  can  find  nothing  in  my  heart  to  say 
except  that  I've  been  living  in  a  fairyland  of  beauty  and 
enchantment.  What  curious  contradictions  these  hearts 
of  ours  lead  us  into  sometimes  —  don't  they?" 

Nan  looked  up  quickly  and  repeated  his  question 
in  cynical  tones. 


The  Dance  of  Death  271 

"Yes,  don't  they?" 

"I  know  that  I  ought  to  condemn  this  appalling  ex 
travagance,  and  I  find  myself  enjoying  it." 

Both  were  silent  for  a  long  while  and  then  they  began 
to  talk  in  low  tones  of  the  life  they  had  lived  as  boy  and 
girl  in  the  old  South,  and  forgot  the  flight  of  time. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  LAST  ILLUSION 

As  the  moment  drew  nearer  for  the  doctor  to  make 
known  his  presence  to  Bivens  his  heart  began  to  fail. 
With  an  effort  he  took  fresh  courage. 

"Of  course  I'll  succeed!"  he  exclaimed.  "There's 
no  such  thing  as  defeat  for  him  who  refuses  to  acknowl 
edge  it." 

As  he  watched  the  magnificent  ball  his  eyes  grew  dim 
at  the  thought  of  the  social  tragedy  which  it  symbol 
ized,  of  his  own  poverty  and  of  the  deeper  wretchedness 
of  scores  to  whom  he  had  been  trying  to  minister.  He 
was  fighting  to  keep  his  courage  up,  but  the  longer  he 
watched  the  barbaric,  sensual  display  of  wealth  sweeping 
before  him,  the  deeper  his  spirit  sank. 

The  butler  touched  his  arm  and  he  turned  with  a 
sudden  start,  a  look  of  anguish  on  his  rugged  face. 

"Mr.  Bivens  will  be  pleased  to  see  you  in  the  little 
library,  sir,  if  you  will  come  at  once!" 

The  man  bowed  with  stately  deference. 

He  followed  the  servant  with  quick  firm  step,  a  hun 
dred  happy  ideas  floating  through  his  mind. 

"Of  course,  it's  all  right.  My  fears  were  absurd!" 
he  mused.  "  My  instinct  was  right.  He  will  be  pleased 
to  see  me.  He's  in  a  good  humour  with  all  the  world 
to-night. " 

When  the  doctor  was  ushered  into  the  library, 
Bivens,  who  was  awaiting  him  alone,  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  look  of  blank  amazement,  and  then  a  smile 

272 


The  Last  Illusion  273 

began  to  play  about  his  hard  mouth.  He  thrust  his 
delicate  hands  into  his  pockets  and  deliberately  looked 
the  doctor's  big  figure  over  from  head  to  foot  as  he  ap 
proached  with  embarrassment. 

"My  servant  announced  that  a  gentleman  wished  to 
speak  to  me  a  moment.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
tell  me  what  you  are  doing  in  this  house  to-night?" 

The  doctor  paused  and  hesitated,  his  face  scarlet  from 
the  deliberate  insult. 

"I  must  really  ask  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bivens,  for  my 
apparent  intrusion.  It  is  only  apparent.  I  came  with 
my  daughter." 

" Your  daughter?" 

"She  sang  to-night  on  your  programme." 

"Oh,  I  see,  with  the  other  hired  singers;  well,  what 
do  you  want?" 

"Only  a  few  minutes  of  your  time  on  a  matter  of 
grave  importance." 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  business  here  to-night,  Wood 
man,"  Bivens  broke  in  abruptly.  "Come  to  my 
office." 

"I  have  been  there  three  or  four  times,"  the  doctor 
went  on  hurriedly,  "and  wrote  to  you  twice.  I  felt 
sure  that  my  letters  had  not  reached  you.  I  hoped  for 
the  chance  of  a  moment  to-night  to  lay  my  case  before 
you." 

Bivens  smiled  and  sat  down. 

"All  right,  I'll  give  you  five  minutes. " 

"  I  felt  sure  you  had  not  seen  my  letters.' ' 

"I'll  ease  your  mind  on  that  question.  I  did  see 
them  both.  You  got  my  answer?" 

"That's  just  it.  I  didn't.  And  I  couldn't  under 
stand  it." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  Bivens's  mouth  quivered  with  the  slight 
est  sneer.  "Perhaps  it  was  lost  in  transit!" 


274  The  Root  of  Evil  \ 

The  sneer  was  lost  on  the  doctor.  He  was  too  intent 
on  his  purpose. 

"I  know.  It  was  a  mistake.  I  see  it  now,  and  I'm 
perfectly  willing  to  pay  for  that  mistake  by  accepting 
even  half  of  your  last  proposition. " 

Bivens  laughed  cynically. 

''This  might  be  serious,  Woodman,  if  it  wasn't  funny 
But  you  had  as  well  know,  once  and  for  all,  that  I  owe 
you  nothing.  Your  suit  has  been  lost.  Your  appeal 
has  been  forfeited.  My  answer  is  brief  but  to  the  point 
—  not  one  cent  —  my  generosity  is  for  my  friends  and 
followers,  not  my  enemies." 

"But  we  are  not  enemies,  personally,"  the  doctor 
explained,  good-naturedly.  "I  have  put  all  bitterness 
out  of  my  heart  and  come  to-night  to  ask  that  bygones 
be  bygones.  You  know  the  history  of  our  relations  and 
of  my  business.  I  need  not  repeat  it.  And  you 
know  that  in  God's  great  book  of  accounts  you  are  my 
debtor." 

Bivens's  eyes  danced  with  anger,  and  his  words  had 
the  ring  of  cold  steel. 

"I  owe  you  nothing." 

In  every  accent  of  the  financier's  voice  the  man 
before  him  felt  the  deadly  merciless  hatred  whose  fires 
had  been  smouldering  for  years. 

For  a  moment  he  was  helpless  under  the  spell  of  his 
fierce  gaze.  He  began  to  feel  dimly  something  of  the 
little  man's  powerful  personality,  the  power  that  had 
crushed  his  ememies. 

The  doctor's  voice  was  full  of  tenderness  when  he 
replied  at  last: 

"My  boy,"  he  began  quietly  —  "for  you  are  still  a 
boy  when  you  stand  beside  my  gray  hairs  —  men  may 
fight  one  another  for  a  great  principle  without  being 
personal  enemies.  We  are  men  still,  with  common 


The  Last  Illusion  275 

hopes,  fears,  ills,  griefs  and  joys.  When  I  was  a  soldier 
I  fought  the  Southern  army,  shot  and  shot  to  kill.  I 
was  fighting  for  a  principle.  When  the  firing  ceased 
I  helped  the  wounded  men  on  the  field  as  I  came  to 
them.  Many  a  wounded  man  in  blue  I've  seen  drag 
himself  over  the  rough  ground  to  pass  his  canteen  to 
the  lips  of  a  boy  in  gray  who  was  lying  on  his  back,  crying 
for  water.  If  I  am  your  enemy,  it  is  over  a  question 
of  principle.  The  fight  has  ended,  and  I  have  fallen 
across  your  path  to-night,  dying  of  thirst  while  rivers  of 
water  flow  about  me." 

Bivens  turned  away  and  the  doctor  pressed  closer. 

"Suppose  we  have  fought  each  other  in  the  heat  of 
the  day  in  the  ranks  of  two  hostile  armies?  The  battle 
has  ceased.  For  me  the  night  has  fallen,  I " 

His  voice  quivered  and  broke  for  an  instant. 

"You  have  won.  You  can  afford  to  be  generous. 
That  you  can  deny  me  in  this  the  hour  of  my  desolation 
is  unthinkable.  I'm  not  pleading  for  myself.  I  can 
live  on  a  rat's  allowance.  I'm  begging  for  my  little 
girl.  I  need  two  thousand  dollars  immediately  to  com 
plete  her  musical  studies.  You  know  what  her  love 
means  to  me.  I  have  put  myself  in  your  power.  Sup 
pose  I've  wronged  you?  Now  is  your  chance  to  do  a 
divine  thing.  Deep  down  in  your  heart  of  hearts  you 
know  that  the  act  would  be  one  of  justice  between  man 
and  man." 

Bivens  looked  up  sharply. 

"As  a  charity,  Woodman,  I  might  give  you  the  paltry 
fifty  thousand  dollars  you  ask. " — 

"I'll  take  it  as  a  charity!"  he  cried  eagerly,  "take  it 
with  joy  and  gratitude,  and  thank  God  for  his  salvation 
sent  in  the  hour  of  my  need. " 

Bivens  smiled  coldly. 

"But  in  reality  you  demand  justice  of  me?" 


276  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  have  put  myself  in  your  power.  I  have  refused 
and  still  refuse  to  believe  that  you  can  treat  me  with 
such  bitter  cruelty  as  to  refuse  to  recognize  my  claim. 
I  have  waked  at  last  to  find  myself  helpless.  The  shock 
of  it  has  crushed  me.  I've  always  felt  rich  in  the  love 
of  my  country,  in  the  consciousness  that  I  did  my  part 
to  save  the  Union.  Its  growing  wealth  I  have  rejoiced 
in  as  my  own.  There  has  never  been  a  moment  in  my 
life  up  to  this  hour  that  I  have  envied  any  man  the 
possession  of  his  millions.  In  the  fight  I  have  made  on 
you,  I  have  been  trying  to  strike  for  the  freedom  of  the 
individual  man  against  what  seemed  to  me  to  be  the 
crushing  slavery  of  soulless  machinery." 

The  little  financier  lifted  his  shapely  hand  with  a 
commanding  gesture  and  the  speaker  paused. 

"Come  to  the  point,  Woodman,  what  is  in  your  mind 
when  you  say  that  I  am  your  debtor?" 

"  Simply  that  I  have  always  known  that  your  formula 
for  that  drink  was  a  prescription  which  I  compounded 
years  ago  and  which  you  often  filled  for  me  when  I  was 
busy.  As  a  physician  I  could  not  patent  such  a  thing. 
You  had  as  much  right  to  patent  it  as  any  one  else." 

"In  other  words, "  Bivens  interrupted  coldly,  "you 
inform  me  that  you  have  always  known  that  I  stole  from 
your  prescription  counter  the  formula  which  gave  me 
my  first  fortune,  and  for  that  reason  every  dollar  I 
possess  to-day  is  branded  with  the  finger  print  of  a  thief; 
and  you,  the  upright  physician,  held  by  the  old  code  of 
honour  which  makes  your  profession  a  fraternity  of 
ancient  chivalry,  come  now  with  your  hat  in  hand  and 
ask  me  for  a  share  of  this  tainted  money." 

"Bivens,"  the  doctor  protested  with  dignity,  "you 
know  that  I  have  made  no  such  wild  accusation  against 
you.  In  our  contest  I  have  never  stooped  to  personali 
ties.  I  have  always  felt,  that  the  inherent  justice  of  my 


The  Last  Illusion  277 

cause  was  based  on  principle.  But  I'm  an  old  man 
to-night.  The  sands  of  life  are  running  low.  I'm  down 
and  out.  The  one  being  I  love  supremely  is  in  peril. 
I  can't  fight." 

Bivens  turned  with  sudden  fury  and  faced  his  visitor, 
every  mask  of  restraint  thrown  to  the  winds.  His 
little  bead-eyes  flashed  with  the  venom  of  a  snake  coiled 
to  strike.  He  stood  close  to  the  doctor  and  looked  up  at 
his  tall  massive  figure,  stretching  his  own  diminutive 
form  in  a  desperate  effort  to  stand  on  a  level  with  his 
enemy. 

The  doctor's  face  grew  suddenly  pale  and  his  form 
rigid  as  the  two  men  stood  holding  each  other's  gaze 
for  a  moment  without  words. 

The  financier  began  to  speak  with  slow  venomous 
energy: 

"I've  let  you  ramble  on  in  your  maudlin  talk,  Wood 
man,  because  it  amused  me.  For  years  I've  waited  for 
your  coming.  Your  unexpected  advent  is  the  sweetest 
triumph  of  this  festival  night.  The  offer  I  made  you 
was  at  the  suggestion  of  my  wife.  I  did  it  solely  to 
please  her.  I  think  you  will  take  my  word  for  it  to-night. ' ' 
He  paused  and  a  sinister  smile  played  about  his  mouth. 
"The  last  time  I  saw  you  I  promised  myself  that  I'd 
make  you  come  to  me  the  next  time,  and  when  you  did, 
that  you'd  come  on  your  hands  and  knees. " 

The  doctor's  big  fists  suddenly  closed  and  Bivens 
took  a  step  back  toward  his  desk  when  his  slender  hand 
gripped  and  fumbled  a  heavy  cut  glass  ink  stand.  The  older 
observed  his  trembling  hand  with  a  smile  of  contempt. 

"And  I  swore,"  Bivens  went  on  in  a  voice  quivering 
with  unrestrained  passion,  "that  when  you  looked  up 
into  my  face  grovelling  and  whining  for  mercy  as  you 
have  to-night,  I'd  call  my  servants  and  order  them  to 
kick  you  down  my  door  step." 


278  The  Root  of  Evil 

He  loosed  his  hold  on  the  ink  stand  and  leaned  across 
the  massive  flat-top  desk  to  touch  an  electric  button. 

The  doctor's  fist  suddenly  gripped  the  outstretched 
hand  and  his  eyes  glared  into  the  face  of  the  financier 
with  the  dangerous  look  of  a  madman. 

"You  had  better  not  ring  that  bell,  yet/*  he  said, 
with  forced  quiet  in  his  tones. 

Bivens  hesitated  and  his  muscles  relaxed  in  the  grip 
on  his  wrist. 

"You  wish  to  prolong  the  agony  for  another  moral 
discussion?"  the  financier  asked  with  a  sneer.  "All 
right,  if  you  enjoy  it." 

"Just  long  enough  to  say  one  thing  to  you,  Bivens. 
There's  a  limit  beyond  which  you  and  your  kind  had 
better  not  press  the  men  you  have  wronged.  You 
have  made  a  brave  show  of  your  power  to-night.  Well, 
you  are  mistaken  if  you  believe  you  can  longer  awe  the 
imagination  of  the  world  with  its  tinsel.  You  have  begun 
to  stir  deeper  thoughts.  Look  to  your  skin.  I've 
always  said  this  is  God's  world,  and  it  must  come  out 
right  in  the  end.  I've  begun  to  think  to-night 
there's  something  wrong.  God  can't  look  down  and 
see  what's  going  on  here  —  the  God  I've  tried  to  serve 
and  worship,  whose  praise  I  have  sung  beneath  the  stars 
on  fields  of  battle  with  the  blood  streaming  from  wounds 
I  got  fighting  for  what  I  believed  to  be  right.  If  the 
devil  rules  the  universe,  and  dog-eat-dog  is  the  law, 
there'll  be  a  big  hand  feeling  for  your  throat,  feeling 
blindly  in  the  dark,  perhaps,  but  it  will  get  there !  When 
I  look  into  your  brazen  face  to-night,  and  hear  the  strains 
of  that  music,  there's  something  inside  of  me  that  wants 
to  kill." 

"But  you  won't,  Woodman!"  Bivens  interrupted 
with  a  sneer. 

"When  it  comes  to  the  test  your  liver  is  white.     I 


The  Last  Illusion  279 

know  your  breed  of  men,  but  I  like  you  better  in  that 
mood.  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  torture  you,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  kick  you  out. " 

"I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  try   it,"  was    the  grim 
response. 

"No.  Your  tirade  gives  me  an  idea.  I  want  you  to 
stay  until  the  festivities  end,  and  enjoy  yourself.  Ob 
serve  that  I'm  pouring  out  my  wealth  here  to-night  in 
a  river  of  generosity,  and  that  you  are  starving  for  a 
drop  which  I  refuse  to  give.  Take  a  look  over  my  house. 
It  cost  two  millions  to  build  it,  and  requires  half  a  million 
a  year  to  keep  it  up.  I  have  a  country  estate  of  a  hun 
dred  thousand  acres  in  the  mountains  of  North  Caro 
lina,  with  a  French  chateau  that  cost  a  million.  I  only 
weigh  a  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds,  but  I  require  these 
palaces  to  properly  house  me  for  a  year.  Think  this 
over  while  you  stroll  among  my  laughing  guests.  My 
art  gallery  will  interest  you.  I've  a  single  painting  there 
which  cost  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  —  the  entire 
collection  two  millions.  The  butterflies  those  dancers 
are  crushing  beneath  their  feet  in  my  ball  room,  I  im 
ported  from  Central  America  at  a  cost  of  five  thousand 
dollars.  The  favours  in  jewelry  I  shall  give  to  my  rich 
guests  who  have  no  use  for  them  will  be  worth  twenty- 
five  thousand  dollars.  You'll  see  my  wife  among  the 
dancers.  Her  dresses  cost  a  hundred  thousand  a  year. 
For  the  string  of  pearls  around  her  neck  I  paid  a  half 
million.  The  slippers  on  her  feet  cost  two  thousand  — 
all  you  need  for  your  daughter's  education.  Take  a 
good  look  at  it,  Woodman,  and  as  the  day  dawns  and 
my  guests  depart,  some  of  them  drunk  on  wine  that  cost 
twenty-five  dollars  a  bottle  —  remember  that  I  spent 
three  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  on  this  banquet  which 
lasted  eight  hours  and  that  I  will  see  you  and  your 
daughter  dead  and  in  the  bottomless  pit  before  I  will 


280  The  Root  of  Evil 

give  you  one  penny.     Enjoy  yourself,  it's  a  fine  even- 
ing." 

The  crushed  man  stared  at  Bivens  in  a  stupor  of  pain. 
The  brazen  audacity  of  his  assault  was  more  than  he 
could  foresee.  When  the  full  import  of  its  cruelty 
found  his  soul,  he  spoke  in  faltering  tones : 

"Only  he  who  is  willing  to  die,  Bivens,  is  the  master 
of  life.  Well,  I  go  now  to  meet  Death  and  celebrate 
defeat." 

"And  I  the  sweetest  victory  of  my  life  —  good  even 
ing!'7 

Before  the  doctor  could  answer,  the  financier  turned 
with  a  laugh  and  left  the  room. 

For  a  long  time  the  dazed  man  stood  motionless.  He 
passed  his  big  hand  over  his  forehead  in  a  vague  instinc 
tive  physical  effort  to  lift  the  fog  of  horror  and  despair 
that  was  slowly  strangling  him. 

"My  God!"  he  gasped  at  last. 

The  orchestra  began  a  new  waltz  while  the  hum  of 
voices,  and  the  laughter  of  half-drunken  revellers  floated 
up  the  grand  stairs  and  struck  upon  his  ears  with  a 
strange  new  accent.  He  seemed  to  have  lived  a  thou 
sand  years,  and  come  to  life  a  new  man  with  strange 
new  impulses.  The  light  of  faith  that  once  illumined 
his  soul  had  suddenly  gone  out  and  a  new  sense  of 
brutal  power  quivered  in  every  nerve  and  muscle. 

.  He  felt  at  last  his  kinship  to  the  torn  bleeding  bundle 
of  despair  he  saw  dying  on  the  pavement  in  Union  Square. 

The  music,  soft,  sweet  and  sensuous,  seemed  to  fill 
every  nook  and  corner  of  the  great  palace  with  its 
low  penetrating  notes.  He  felt  that  he  was  suffocating. 
He  tore  his  collar  apart  to  give  himself  room  to  breathe, 
lie  thrust  his  hand  into  the  hip  pocket  of  his  dress  suit 
where  he  usually  carried  a  handkerchief  and  felt  some 
thing  hard  and  cold. 


The  Last  Illusion  281 

It  was  a  revolver  he  had  been  accustomed  to  carry  of 
late  in  his  rounds  through  the  dangerous  quarters  of 
the  city.  Without  thinking  when  he  dressed,  he  had 
transferred  it  to  his  evening  suit.  His  hand  closed 
over  the  ivory  handle  with  a  sudden  fierce  joy.  And 
in  a  moment  the  beast  that  sleeps  beneath  the  skin 
of  religion  and  culture  was  in  the  saddle. 

"  Yes,  I'll  kill  him  in  his  magnificent  ball  room  —  to 
the  strains  of  his  own  music ! "  he  said  half  aloud.  "Til 
give  a  fit  climax  to  his  dance  of  Death  and  the  Worm. " 

He  drew  the  revolver  from  his  pocket,  broke  it,  ex 
amined  the  shells,  snapped  them  in  place  and  thrust 
the  deadly  thing  in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat.  He 
could  draw  it  from  there  without  attracting  the  atten 
tion  of  his  victim. 

He  quickly  descended  the  stairs  and  saw  Bivens 
talking  to  his  wife.  He  didn't  wish  to  kill  him  in  her 
presence  and  as  he  passed  a  look  of  hatred  flashed  from 
the  little  black  eyes  of  the  millionaire. 

The  doctor  answered  with  a  smile  that  roused  the 
master  of  the  house  to  a  pitch  of  incontrollable  fury. 
He  left  his  wife's  side  stepped  quickly  in  front  of  Wood 
man,  hesitated  as  he  was  about  to  utter  an  oath, 
changed  his  mind  and  resumed  his  role  of  host : 

"If  I  can  show  you  any  of  the  treasures  of  the  house, 
I'll  be  glad  to  act  as  your  guide,  Woodman!"  he  said 
with  an  effort  at  laughter. 

"Thank  you.  I've  just  seen  some  very  interesting 
pictures. " 

"Surely  you  have  not  finished  with  my  masterpieces 
so  soon?  "  he  said,  with  mocking  protest. 

The  doctor  had  made  up  his  mind  to  kill  him  at  the 
moment  the  dance  was  at  the  highest  pitch  of  gaiety 
and  he  wanted  to  get  him  as  near  the  great  arch  as  pos 
sible. 


282  The  Root  of  Evil 

His  answer  was  given  so  politely  and  evenly  the  finan 
cier  was  puzzled. 

"No,  Bivens, "  he  said  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice, 
"the  pictures  I  saw  were  purely  mental.  I  haven't 
been  to  your  art  gallery  yet. " 

"See  it  by  all  means!"  he  urged  with  exaggerated 
politeness.  "It's  a  rare  privilege,  you  know.  It's 
not  often  the  rabble  is  inside  these  walls.  It's  the 
chance  of  your  life. " 

"Thank  you,  I'll  find  enough  to  amuse  me  before  I 
go." 

Again  the  doctor  smiled. 

Bivens  turned  on  his  heels  with  a  muttered  oath  and 
disappeared  in  the  crowd.  He  was  plainly  disconcerted 
by  his  enemy's  manner.  To  see  a  man  of  his  tempera 
ment  rise  suddenly  from  the  depths  of  despair  into 
smiling  serenity  was  something  uncanny.  He  left  him 
deliberating  whether  to  call  his  servants  and  throw 
him  into  the  street. 

As  the  doctor  waited  for  the  music  to  begin,  he  watched 
the  women  pass,  resplendent  in  their  jewels  and  magni 
ficent  in  their  nakedness.  To-night  he  saw  it  without 
the  excuses  of  conventional  social  usage. 

"And  this,"  he  exclaimed  bitterly,  "is  the  highest 
development  of  American  life;  this  splendid,  sordid, 
criminal  degrading  pageant  with  its  sensual  appeal; 
and  yet  if  the  house  should  fall  and  crush  them  all,  the 
world  would  lose  nothing  of  value  except  the  jewelry 
that  might  be  mixed  with  its  debris!" 

He  felt  for  the  moment  a  messenger  of  divine  ven 
geance.  His  pistol  shot  would  at  least  give  them  some 
thing  to  think  about. 

The  music  began,  and  the  dancers  once  more  whirled 
into  the  centre  of  the  room  and  the  crowd  filled  the  space 
under  the  grand  arch  which  led  into  the  hall.  Bivens 


The  Last  Illusion  283 

was  the  centre  of  an  admiring  group  of  sycophants  and 
worshipful  snobs.  The  doctor's  heart  gave  a  mad 
throb  of  joy.  His  hour  had  come. 

With  quick  strides  he  covered  the  space  which  sepa 
rated  them  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  breast  for  his  revolver.  Not  a  muscle 
or  nerve  quivered.  His  finger  touched  the  trigger 
softly  and  he  gave  Bivens  a  look  which  he  meant  he 
should  take  with  him  into  eternity,  when  just  beyond 
him  he  saw  Harriet.  She  stood  motionless  with  a  look 
of  mute  agony  on  her  fair  young  face,  watching  Stuart 
talk  to  Bivens's  wife. 

His  finger  slipped  from  the  trigger  and  his  hand 
loosed  its  deadly  grip. 

"Have  I  forgotten  my  baby!"  he  cried  in  sudden 
anguish.  And  then  another  vision  flashed  through  his 
excited  brain.  A  court  room,  a  prisoner,  his  own  bowed 
figure  the  centre  of  a  thousand  eyes  while  the  jury 
brought  in  their  verdict.  A  moment  of  awful  silence 
and  the  foreman  said: 

"Guilty  of  murder  in  the  first  degree." 

And  the  long  piercing  scream  from  the  broken  heart 
of  his  little  girl. 

"No,  no,  not  that!"  he  groaned  in  sudden  terror,  his 
face  white  with  pain.  "I  can't  kill  her,  too.  No,  I 
must  save  her,  that's  why  I  want  to  kill  him  because 
he  has  imperilled  her  life,  and  I  am  about  to  crush  her 
at  a  single  blow.  God  save  and  help  me!  —  God! 
Where  is  God?  He  helps  those  who  help  themselves 
in  this  madman's  world.  Well,  then  I'll  look  out  for 
my  own,  too!" 

His  breath  came  in  laboured  gasps  as  one  mad  thought 
succeeded  another. 

"Yes!"  he  said  hoarsely,  (<I  must  save  her.  I  must 
be  cunning.  I  must  succeed,  not  fail.  I  must  get 


284  The  Root  of  Evil 

what  I  came  here  for.     I  must  save  my  baby.     My  own 
fate  is  of  no  importance.     She  is  everything. " 

He  watched  the  dancers,  greedily  catching  the  flash 
of  their  diamonds,  gleaming  tiaras,  rings,  necklaces, 
bracelets,  each  worth  a  king's  ransom.  Suddenly  the 
idea  flashed  through  his  mind : 

Bivens  had  taken  from  him,  by  fraud,  his  formula, 
destroyed  his  business  and  robbed  him  of  all  he  possessed. 
The  law  gave  him  power  to  hold  it.  He,  too,  would 
appeal  to  the  same  power  and  take  what  belonged  to 
him.  No  matter  how,  he  would  take  it,  and  he  would 
take  it  to-night. 

Bivens  had  boasted  that  his  favours  in  jewelry  given 
in  sheer  wantonness  of  pride  to  rich  guests  would  be  worth 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars.  His  plan  was  instantly 
formed. 

He  turned  quickly  and  began  to  search  the  house 
until  he  found  the  half-drunken  servant  arranging  these 
packages  under  the  direction  of  a  secretary.  These 
favours  had  been  made  for  the  occasion  by  a  famous 
jeweller;  a  diamond  pin  of  peculiar  design,  a  gold  death's 
head  with  diamond  teeth  and  eyes  surmounted  by  a 
butterfly  and  a  caterpillar.  The  stones  in  each  piece 
were  worth  a  hundred  dollars.  They  lay  on  a  table 
in  little  open  jewel  boxes,  fifty  in  a  box,  and  each  box 
contained  five  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  gold  and  pre 
cious  stones. 

The  doctor  inspected  the  boxes  with  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  admiration. 

The  secretary  who  had  lingered  long  over  his  cham 
pagne  was  busy  trying  to  write  the  names  of  the  guests 
on  separate  cards.  The  doctor  bent  low  over  the  table 
for  an  instant,  and  when  he  left  one  of  the  jewel  cases 
rested  securely  in  his  pocket. 

He  was  amazed  at  his  own  skill  and  a  thrill  of  fierce 


I  must  save  her.      T  must  be  cunning 


The  Last  Illusion  285 

triumph  filled  his  being  as  he  realized  that  he  had  suc 
ceeded  and  that  his  little  girl  would  go  to  Europe  and 
complete  her  work.  He  spoke  pleasantly  to  the  secre 
tary,  and  congratulating  him  on  his  good  fortune  in 
securing  such  a  master,  turned  and  strolled  leisurely 
back  to  the  ball  room. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt  the  safety  of  his  act. 
He  was  a  chemist  and  knew  the  secrets  of  the  laboratory. 
He  would  melt  the  gold  into  a  single  bar  and  sell  the  dia 
monds  as  he  needed  them.  His  only  regret  was  that  he 
could  not  have  taken  the  full  amount  he  had  demanded 
of  the  little  scoundrel. 

He  found  Harriet  and  they  started  at  once  for 
home. 

The  dancers  who  were  not  staying  for  the  second  din 
ner,  about  to  be  announced  at  four  o'clock,  had  begun  to 
leave.  Friends  were  helping  the  ladies  to  their  cars 
and  carriages,  and  other  friends  were  labouring  hope 
fully  with  those  who  were  not  yet  convinced  of  the 
incapacity  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

Everywhere  the  floors  were  stained  with  the  crushed 
forms  of  butterflies.  The  wonderful  flashing  creatures 
had  darted  through  the  rooms  at  first  with  swift  whirling 
circling  wings.  But  in  the  hot  fetid  air  one  by  one  they 
had  fallen  to  the  floor  crushed  into  shapeless  masses. 
Hundreds  of  them  had  clung  to  the  leaves  of  the  lilacs, 
roses  and  ferns  until  they  dropped  exhausted.  Some 
of  them  still  hung  in  long  graceful  swaying  streamers  of 
dazzling  colour  from  the  ceilings. 

The  doctor  pointed  to  them. 

"Look,  dear,  their  poor  little  hearts  are  counting  the 
seconds  that  yet  separate  them  from  the  mangled  bodies 
of  their  mates  on  the  floor.  So  the  hearts  of  millions 
of  people  have  been  crushed  out  for  the  sport  of  this 
evening.  It's  a  funny  world,  isn't  it?" 


286  The  Root  of  Evil 

Harriet  looked  up  quickly  into  his  face  with  puzzled 
inquiry. 

"Why,  Papa,  I  never  heard  you  talk  so  strangely. 
What's  the  matter?" 

The  father  laughed  in  the  best  of  spirits. 

"Only  the  fancy  of  a  moment,  child.  I  never  felt 
better.  Did  you  have  a  good  time?" 

The  girl's  face  grew  serious  as  she  drew  on  her  wrap 
and  glanced  back  toward  the  great  doorway  of  the  ball 
room. 

"Yes,  when  I  could  forget  the  pain  in  my  heart." 

She  paused  and  seized  his  arm  with  sudden  energy. 

"You  succeeded?  It's  all  right?  I'm  going  abroad 
at  once  to  study?" 

The  doctor  laughed  aloud  in  a  burst  of  fierce  joy. 

"Certainly,  my  dear!  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  would  be 
so?" 

The  tears  sprang  into  the  gentle  eyes  as  she  answered 
gratefully. 

"You  can't  know  how  happy  you've  made  me." 

Bivens,  who  had  heard  the  doctor's  laughter,  passed 
and  said  with  exaggerated  courtesy: 

"I  trust  you  have  enjoyed  the  evening,  Woodman? " 

The  doctor  laughed  again  in  his  face. 

"More  than  I  can  possibly  tell  you!" 

Bivens  followed  to  the  door  and  watched  him  slowly 
walk  down  the  steps. 


CHAPTER    XX 

THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS 

The  two  weeks  which  followed  the  Bivens  ball,  were 
the  happiest  Harriet  Woodman  had  known  since  Nan's 
shadow  had  fallen  across  her  life.  Every  moment  was 
crowded  with  the  work  of  preparing  for  her  trip,  except 
the  hours  she  could  not  refuse  Stuart,  who  had  suddenly 
waked  to  the  fact  that  something  beautiful  was  going 
out  of  his  life.  Every  day  he  asked  her  to  play  and 
sing  for  him  or  go  for  one  of  their  rambles  over  the  hills. 
They  talked  but  little.  He  simply  loved  to  be  alone 
with  her. 

Harriet  watched  him  with  keen  joy,  and  deep  in  her 
heart  a  secret  hope  began  to  slowly  grow. 

The  day  she  sailed  he  refused  to  go  with  her  to  the  pier. 

"  Why  Jim,  you  must  come  with  me ! "  she  protested. 

"No,  I  can't,  little  pal.  Sit  down  at  your  piano  now 
and  sing  my  favourite  song  and  I'll  say  goodbye  here. " 

"But  why?  "she  pleaded. 

"I'm  not  quite  sure  how  I  would  behave  in  public. " 

Without  a  word  she  took  off  her  gloves,  sat  down  at 
the  piano  and  sung  in  low  tones  of  melting  tenderness. 
When  the  last  note  died  away,  he  rose  quietly,  came  to 
her  side,  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  never  knew,  little  girl,  how  my  life  has  grown  into 
yours  until  I'm  about  to  lose  you. " 

"But  you're  not  going  to  lose  me.  Remember  I'm 
coming  back  to  sing  for  you  before  thousands.  And 
I'm  going  to  make  you  proud  of  me. " 

287 


288  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  couldn't  know  how  deeply  and  tenderly  I  love 
you,  child,  until  this  moment  when  I'm  about  to  say 
goodbye." 

The  little  figure  was  very  still.  Her  eyes  drooped  and 
her  lips  trembled  pathetically.  She  knew  that  he  had 
said  too  much  to  mean  a  great  deal.  He  had  spoken 
of  his  love  for  her  as  a  "child,"  when  long  ago  the  child 
had  grown  into  the  tragic  figure  of  a  woman  who  had 
learned  to  wait  and  suffer  in  silence. 

She  tried  to  speak  and  her  voice  failed.  Her  hand 
began  to  tremble  in  his. 

She  turned  and  faced  him  with  a  smile,  pressing  his 
hand.  The  cab  was  at  the  door  and  her  father  calling 
from  below. 

"  Goodbye,  Jim, "  she  said  tenderly. 

"  Goodbye  to  the  dearest  little  chum  God  ever  sent 
to  cheer  a  lonely  unhappy  man's  soul. " 

A  sob  stilled  his  voice  and  she  turned  her  face  away 
to  hide  her  tears. 

He  still  clung  to  her  hand. 

"It's  been  a  long  time,"  he  said  hestatingly,  "since 
you've  kissed  me,  girlie;  just  one  for  remembrance! " 

With  a  quick  movement  she  drew  her  hand  away  and 
started  with  a  laugh  toward  the  door. 

"No,  Jim,  I'm  afraid  I'm  getting  too  old  for  that 
now. " 

He  made  no  reply  but  stepped  to  her  side  and  grasped 
her  hand. 

"Then  again,  goodbye." 

"Goodbye." 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

The  slender  body  quivered  and  her  face  flushed  scarlet. 
She  hurried  down  the  steps  to  the  cab,  turned  and  threw 
him  a  kiss. 

He  watched  the  cab  roll  down  Fourth  Street  toward 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  289 

the  pier  while  a  great  wave  of  loneliness  overwhelmed 
him. 

He  slowly  climbed  the  stairs  toward  his  room,  and 
passed  the  door  of  Harriet's  on  the  way.  It  was  open 
and  he  looked  in  expecting  her  to  appear  suddenly 
before  him  with  a  smile  on  her  serene  little  face.  He 
noted  how  neat  and  tidy  she  had  left  her  nest;  not  a 
sign  of  confusion,  the  floor  swept  clean,  everything  in 
its  place  and  the  bed  made  with  scrupulous  care.  The 
whole  place  breathed  the  perfume  of  her  sunny  charac 
ter. 

On  the  mantel  he  saw  a  love  letter  she  had  written  to 
her  father. 

"How  thoughtful  of  the  little  darling,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  God  knows  he'll  need  it  to-night. " 

He  hurried  to  his  own  room  with  the  hope  that  she 
might  have  left  one  for  him.  He  searched  his  mantel 
and  bureau  in  vain  and  had  just  given  up  with  a  sigh 
when  his  eye  rested  on  a  card  fastened  over  the  old-fash 
ioned  grate  in  the  fire  place.  His  hand  trembled  as 
he  read  it: 

"DEAR  JIM: 

"  I  shall  miss  you  dreadfully,  in  the  strange  world  beyond 
the  seas.  When  you  sit  here  and  look  into  your  fire  I  hope 
you'll  see  the  face  of  your  little  pal  in  the  picture  sometimes. 

"HARRIET." 

He  kissed  the  card  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket  book. 

At  night  the  doctor  was  not  at  home.  He  rapped 
on  his  door  next  morning  and  got  no  answer. 

The  girl  said  he  had  spent  the  night  out  —  she  didn't 
know  where. 

As  Stuart  was  about  to  leave  for  his  office  the  doctor 
entered.  His  bloodshot  eyes  were  sunken  deep  behind 
his  brows,  his  face  haggard  and  his  shoulders  drooped. 


290  The  Root  of  Evil 

Stuart  knew  he  had  tramped  the  streets  all  night  in  a 
stupor  of  hopeless  misery. 

He  stared  at  the  young  lawyer  as  if  he  didn't  recognize 
him  and  then  said  feebly: 

"  Don't  go  yet,  my  boy,  wait  a  few  moments.  I  just 
want  to  know  that  you're  here. " 

Stuart  took  his  outstretched  hand,  and  led  him  into 
the  library.  "I  know  why  you  tramped  the  streets; 
the  old  house  is  very  lonely. " 

The  father  placed  his  hand  on  his  head,  exclaiming: 

"I  never  knew  what  loneliness  meant  before!"  The 
big  hand  fell  in  a  gesture  of  depair.  "It's  dark  and 
cold,  I'm  slipping  down  into  a  bottomless  pit.  There's 
not  a  soul  in  heaven  or  earth  or  hell  to  whom  I  can  cry 
for  help  or  pity. " 

Stuart  pressed  his  hand. 

"I  understand.  I'm  younger  than  you,  Doctor,  but 
I,  too,  have  walked  that  way,  the  via  dolor osa  alone. " 

The  older  man  glared  at  him  with  a  wild  look  in  his 
eyes. 

"But  you  don't  understand;  that's  what's  the  matter, 
and  I  can't  tell  you.  I'm  alone,  I  tell  you,  alone  in  a 
world  of  cold  and  darkness. " 

"No,  no,"  Stuart  interrupted  soothingly.  "You're 
just  all  in;  you  must  go  to  bed  and  sleep.  Go  at  once, 
and  you'll  find  something  to  cheer  you  in  the  little  girl's 
room,  a  love  letter  for  you. " 

"Yes,"  he  asked,  the  light  slowly  returning  to  his 
eyes,  "a  love  letter  from  my  baby?" 

"I  saw  it  there  after  she  left.  Read  it  and  go  to  sleep. 
I'll  see  you  to-night. " 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,  my  boy,  that's  what's  the  matter 
with  me.  I'm  just  all  in  for  the  lack  of  sleep.  I've 
been  raving  half  the  time,  I  think.  I'll  go  to  bed  at 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  291 

When  Stuart  returned  early  from  his  work  in  the 
afternoon  he  found  a  group  of  forlorn  women  and  chil 
dren  standing  beside  the  stoop.  A  pale,  elfish-looking  boy 
of  ten,  whose  face  appeared  to  be  five  years  older,  sat 
on  the  lower  step  crying. 

"What's  the  matter,  kiddie?"  he  asked  kindly. 

"I  wants  de  doctor  —  me  mudder's  sick.  She'll 
croak  before  mornin'  ef  he  don't  come  —  dey  all  want 
him. "  He  waved  his  little  dirty  hand  toward  the  others. 
"He  ain't  come  around  no  more  for  a  week.  The  goil 
says  we  can't  see  him,  he's  asleep. " 

"I'll  tell  him  you're  here.  The  doctor's  been  ill  him 
self." 

The  boy  rose  quickly  and  doffed  his  ragged  cap. 

"Tank  ye,  boss." 

He  urged  the  doctor  to  go  at  once  to  see  his  patients. 
The  work  he  loved  would  restore  his  spirits.  He  was 
dumfounded  at  the  answer  he  received. 

"Tell  them  to  go  away,"  he  said  with  a  frown.  "I 
can't  see  them  to-day.  I  may  never  be  able  to  see  them 
again. " 

"Come,  come,  Doctor,  pull  yourself  together  and  go. 
I'll  go  with  you.  It's  the  best  medicine  you  can  take. " 

He  answered  angrily: 

"No,  no!  I'm  in  no  mood  to  work.  I  couldn't 
help  them.  I'd  poison  and  kill  them  all,  feeling  as  I 
do  to-day.  A  physician  can't  heal  the  sick  unless  there's 
healing  in  his  own  soul.  I'd  bring  death  not  life  into 
their  homes.  Tell  them  to  go  away!" 

Stuart  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  money  he  had 
in  a  desperate  effort  to  break  their  disappointment. 

"The  doctor's  too  ill  to  see  you,  now,"  he  explained. 
"He  sent  this  money  for  you  and  hopes  it  will  help  you 
over  the  worst  until  he  can  come. " 

He  divided  the  money  among  them  and  they  looked 


292  The  Root  of  Evil 

at  it  with  dull  disappointment.  They  were  glad  to 
get  it,  but  what  they  needed  more  than  the  money  was 
the  hope  and  strength  of  their  friend's  presence.  They 
left  with  dragging  feet  and  Stuart  returned  to  the  doc 
tor's  room  determined  not  to  leave  until  he  knew  the 
secret  of  his  collapse. 

From  the  haggard  face  and  feverish  eyes  he  knew  he 
hadn't  slept  yet.  He  had  gotten  up  at  one  o'clock 
and  dressed.  The  lunch  which  the  maid  had  brought 
to  his  room  was  on  the  table  by  his  bed,  untouched. 

The  young  lawyer  softly  closed  the  door  and  sat 
down.  The  older  man  gazed  at  him  in  a  dull  stupor. 

" Doctor, "  Stuart  began  gently.  "I've  known  you 
for  about  fifteen  years.  You're  the  only  father  I've 
had  in  this  big  town,  and  you've  been  a  good  one. 
You've  been  acting  strangely  for  the  past  two  weeks. 
You're  in  trouble." 

"The  greatest  trouble  that  can  come  to  any  human 
soul, "  was  the  bitter  answer. 

"Haven't  I  won  the  right  to  your  confidence  and 
friendship  in  such  an  hour?" 

"My  trouble,  boy,  is  beyond  the  help  of  friends. " 

"Nonsense,"  Stuart  answered  cheerfully.  "Shake 
off  the  blues.  What's  wrong?  Do  you  need  money?" 

The  doctor  broke  into  a  discordant  laugh. 

"No.  I've  just  sent  Harriet  abroad.  I've  some 
money  laid  away  that  will  last  a  year  or  two  until  she 
is  earning  a  good  salarv.  What  gave  you  the  idea?" 

The  last  question  he  asked  with  sudden  sharp  energy. 

"Actions  that  indicate  a  strain  greater  than  you  can 
bear." 

"No,  you're  mistaken,"  he  answered  roughly.  "I 
can  bear  it  all  right."  He  paused  and  his  eyes  stared  at 
the  ceiling  as  he  groaned :  "  I've  got  to  bear  it;  what's  the 
use  to  whine?" 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  293 

Stuart  stepped  close  and  slipped  his  arm  about  the 
stalwart  figure.  His  voice  was  tender  with  a  man's 
deep  feeling. 

"Come,  Doctor,  you're  not  fooling  me.  I've  known 
you  too  long.  There's  only  one  man  on  earth  for  whom 
I'd  do  as  much  as  I  would  for  you  —  my  own  gray-haired 
father  down  South.  You've  been  everything  to  me  one 
man  could  be  to  another  during  the  past  fifteen  years. 
You  have  given  me  a  home,  the  love  of  a  big  tender 
heart,  and  the  wise  counsel  of  tried  friendship.  If  there's 
anything  that  I  have  and  you  need,  it's  yours  before  you 
ask  it,  to  the  last  dollar  I  possess.  Come  now  —  tell 
me  what's  the  trouble?" 

Stuart  could  feel  the  big  form  sway  and  tremble  under 
the  stress  of  overwhelming  emotion,  and  his  arm  pressed 
a  little  closer.  And  taen  the  tension  suddenly  broke. 

The  doctor  sank  into  a  chair  and  looked  up  with  a 
helpless  stare. 

"Yes,  Jim,  I  will  —  I'll  —  tell  —  you. " 

He  gasped  and  choked,  paused,  pulled  himself  together 
and  cried: 

"I  must  tell  somebody  or  jump  out  of  that  window 
and  dash  my  brains  out!" 

When  the  paroxysm  of  emotion  had  spent  itself,  he 
drew  a  deep  sigh  and  began  to  speak  in  broken  accents. 

"I  was  in  trouble  for  money,  my  boy,  in  the  deepest 
trouble." 

"And  you  didn't  let  me  know!"  Stuart  interrupted 
reproachfully. 

"How  could  I?  I  was  proud  and  sensitive.  I  had 
taught  you  high  ideals.  How  could  the  teacher  come  to 
his  pupil  and  say,  'I've  failed.'  My  theories  were 
beautiful,  but  they  don't  work  in  life.  And  so  I  strug 
gled  on  until  I  waked  one  day  to  find  that  I  was  getting 
old,  that  I  had  gone  to  war  to  fight  other  men's  battles 


294  The  Root  of  E 

and  had  left  my  loved  one  at  home  to  perish.  The 
first  hideous  sense  of  failure  crept  over  me  and  paralyzed 
soul  and  body  with  fear.  I  was  becoming  a  pauper. 
You  see  I  had  always  believed  that  a  man  who  poured 
out  his  life  for  others  could  not  fail.  And  then  I  —  who 
had  given,  given,  given,  always  given  my  time,  rny 
money,  my  soul,  and  body  —  waked  to  find  that  I  was 
sucked  dry,  that  I  was  played  out,  that  I  was 
bankrupt  in  money,  bankrupt  in  life!  The  great  love 
I  had  borne  the  world  suddenly  grew  faint  under  the 
sense  of  loneliness  and  failure.  And  I  gave  up.  I  with 
drew  my  suit  and  determined  to  throw  myself  on  the 
generosity  of  the  man  who  owed  his  wealth  and  power 
to  the  start  I  had  given  him,  the  man  who  destroyed  my 
business  and  wrecked  my  fortune.  He  had  made  me 
two  offers  that  seemed  generous  when  I  recalled  them. 
I  judged  his  character  by  my  own  and  I  went  to  his  house 
the  night  of  that  ball  without  invitation. " 

The  doctor's  voice  broke  and  he  paused.  And  then 
with  the  tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks  unchecked, 
his  accents  broken  with  unrestrained  sobs  he  told 
the  story  of  his  meeting  with  Bivens,  of  his  abject 
pleading  when  he  had  thrown  pride  to  the  winds,  of  the 
cruel  and  brutal  taunts,  and  the  last  beastly  insult  when 
the  millionaire  boasted  of  his  squandering  of  millions 
and  rejoiced  that  he  could  flaunt  this  in  the  face  of 
his  suffering  and  humiliation. 

"And  then,  boy,"  the  broken  man  moaned,  " he  left 
me  with  a  sneer  and  told  me  to  stroll  over  his  palace  and 
enjoy  the  evening.  That  I  would  find  his  wife  wearing 
a  pearl  necklace  which  cost  a  half  million  and  jewelled 
slippers  worth  enough  to  finish  my  baby's  education, 
but  that  he  would  see  us  both  to  the  bottom  of  hell 
before  I  could  have  one  penny. " 

Again  the  doctor's  voice  sank  into  a  strangling  sob. 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  295 

When  he  lifted  his  head  his  eyes  were  glittering  with  a 
strange  light. 

"And  then,"  he  went  on  with  quivering  voice, "I 
began  to  see  things  red.  The  lust  of  blood  was  beating 
in  every  stroke  of  my  heart.  In  vivid  flashes  of  blas 
phemous  fury  I  saw  life  from  a  new  point  of  view. 
I  began  to  ask  where  God  lived  that  such  things  could  be 
in  his  world.  I  saw  the  bruised  bodies  of  my  fellow 
beings  flung  before  such  men  as  Bivens  and  ground  to 
dust.  I  saw  the  lies  that  pass  for  truth,  the  low  fights 
for  gain  at  the  cost  of  blood  and  tears,  the  deeds  that 
laugh  at  shame  and  honour,  and  gloating  over  it  all 
the  brutal  glory  of  success.  I  determined  to  kill  the 
little  wretch  as  I  would  stamp  on  a  snake.  And  then  I 
saw  my  baby  standing  near.  My  hand  grew  limp.  I 
felt  that  I  must  save  her  first  and  then  die  if  need  be. 
I  felt  for  the  first  time  the  cunning  of  the  elemental  man, 
the  force  that  gave  him  food  and  shelter  for  himself 
and  babies  before  the  laws  of  property  had  come  to  rule 
the  world.  I  reached  out  my  hand  and  took  by  cunning 
what  belonged  to  me  by  right." 

Again  he  paused  and  looked  into  Stuart's  face  with  a 
hopeless  stare. 

"I  —  stole  —  a  —  case  —  of  —  jewels! " 

Stuart  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation  of 
horror. 

"You  —  did  —  what!" 

"Yes, "  the  doctor  went  on  hoarsely.  "I  stole  a 
case  of  his  jewels,  and  sent  my  girl  abroad.  I'm  going 
to  plead  guilty  now  and  go  to  prison.  I  shall  never 
again  lift  my  head  in  the  haunts  of  men. " 

Stuart  sobbed  in  anguish. 

"You  see,  boy,  I  failed  when  put  to  the  test.  It 
doesn't  make  any  difference  about  my  reputation. 
Character  only  counts,  and  I'm  a  thief. " 


296  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Shut  up!"  Stuart  cried  fiercely,  seizing  his  arm. 
"  Don't  say  that  again  and  don't  talk  so  loudly. 
Whatever  you  did,  you  were  insane  when  you  did  it. " 

"No,  I  had  just  failed,"  the  older  man  insisted  in 
dull  tones, "failed  in  all  save  one  thing.  I've  done  that, 
at  least.  And  I  didn't  forget  my  honour.  I  used  it 
for  my  purpose.  I  did  as  old  Palissy  the  great  mad 
potter.  To  get  the  heat  required  to  perfect  his  greatest 
work  of  art,  you  know  he  broke  the  last  piece  of  fur 
niture  in  his  house  and  thrust  it  into  his  furnace.  So  I 
threw  my  honour  into  the  flames  of  hell  to  save  my  little 
girl's  voice.  Maybe  it  was  a  mistake.  I  don't  know. 
I  couldn't  think  then.  I  only  know  now  that  life  is 
impossible  any  more,  and  I'm  ready  to  go.  You  can 
send  me  to  prison  at  once,  Jim,  I'd  rather  you  would  do 
it,  for  I  know  that  you  love  me  and  at  least  no  unkind 
word  will  fall  from  your  lips  before  I  receive  my  sentence. 
I'll  make  no  fight.  I'm  glad  I  don't  have  to  say  all  this 
to  a  stranger.  You  can  send  me  up  the  river  at  once. 
I'm  glad  you  are  the  district  attorney. " 

"But  I'm  not.     I  resigned  my  office  this  morning. " 

"Resigned? "      The  doctor  asked  in  dazed  surprise. 

"Yes,  to  go  into  business  for  myself.  I  had  only 
another  month  to  serve.  You're  not  going  to  prison 
if  I  can  help  it." 

"But  I  don't  want  you  to  help  it.  It's  the  only 
place  to  go  now  —  you  see,  boy,  I  can't  live  with  myself 
any  more!  Besides  I'm  old  and  played  out;  the  world 
don't  need  me  any  longer. " 

"Well,  I  need  you,"  Stuart  broke  in,  "and  you're 
not  going  to  give  up  this  fight  as  long  as  I'm  here. " 

"I'm  a  failure;  it's  no  use." 

"But  you've  forgotten  some  things,"  the  younger 
man  said  tenderly.  "You've  helped  to  make  my  life 
what  it  is  —  you  haven't  failed  in  that.  You  gave 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  297 

your  blood  to  your  country  when  she  needed  it  —  you 
didn't  fail  in  that.  You  have  forgotten  the  thousands 
you  have  helped,  the  hope  and  cheer  and  inspiration 
that  passed  into  their  lives  through  yours.  Failure 
sometimes  means  success.  The  greatest  failure  of  all 
the  ages  perhaps  was  Jesus  Christ.  Deserted  and 
denied  by  his  own  disciples,  scoffed,at,  spit  on  and  beaten 
by  his  enemies,  crucified  between  two  thieves,  crying  in 
anguish  and  despair  to  the  God  who  had  forsaken  him; 
yet  this  friendless  crucified  peasant  who  failed,  has 
conquered  the  world  at  last. " 

Stuart  paused  and  looked  at  the  older  man  sharply. 

"Are  you  listening,  Doctor?"  he  asked,  seizing  his 
arm.  "  Did  you  hear  what  I  just  said  to  you?  " 

He  turned  his  head  stupidly. 

"Hear  what?  No,  I  can't  hear  anything,  Jim, 
except  a  devil  that  follows  me  everywhere,  day  and 
night,  and  whispers  in  my  ear  —  'thief!  thief!'  It's 
no  use.  I'm  done. " 

"Well  I'm  not  done.  I've  just  begun.  You  are  not 
going  to  give  up  and  you're  not  going  to  prison.  We'll 
go  to  Bivens's  house  to-night.  We'll  tell  him  the  truth. 
We  '11  return  the  value  of  his  jewels.  I'll  get  the  money 

to  make  good  what  you  owe  him ' '  his  voice 

broke. 

"Oh,  why,  why,  why  didn't  you  let  me  know;  but 
what's  the  use  to  ask,  it's  done  now!" 

"Yes,  it's  done  and  it  can't  be  undone,"  the  older 
man  interrupted  hopelessly. 

"But  it  can  and  it  will  be  undone.  I've  influence 
with  Bivens.  He'll  drop  the  matter  and  no  one  on  earth 
will  know  save  we  three.  You  can  go  on  with  your  work 
among  the  poor  and  I'll  help  you." 

"But  you  don't  understand,  Jim,"  the  broken  man 
protested,  feebly.  "I  tell  you  I've  given  up.  I  can't 


298  The  Root  of  Evil 

take  your  money,  I  can't  pay.  I  tell  you  I've  given  up. 
I  can't  take  your  money.  I  can't  pay  it  back. " 

"You  can  pay  it  back,  too,  if  you  like.  Harriet  will 
be  earning  thousands  of  dollars  in  a  few  years.  Her 
success  is  sure. " 

A  faint  smile  lighted  the  father's  face. 

"  Her  success  is  sure,  isn't  it?  "  he  asked  with  the  eager 
ness  of  a  child.  And  then  the  smile  slowly  faded. 

"But  I  shall  not  be  here  to  see  it. " 

"Yes  you  will.  I'm  running  your  affairs  now,  and 
youVe  got  to  do  what  I  say.  Get  ready.  We  are 
going  to  see  Bivens. " 

"I'll  do  it  if  you  say  so,  boy,"  the  doctor  answered 
feebly,  "but  it's  no  use.  He'll  prosecute  me  to  the 
limit  of  the  law. " 

"He'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind. " 

"He  will  —  I  know  him. " 

Bivens  refused  point  blank  at  first  to  see  Woodman 
and  ordered  his  servant  to  put  him  out  of  the  house  and 
ask  Stuart  to  remain  for  a  conference. 

Stuart  drew  from  his  case  a  card  and  wrote  a  message 
to  Nan. 

"  Imperative  that  I  see  Cal  at  once  in  the  presence  of  my 
friend  on  a  matter  of  grave  importance.  Please  send  him 
down.  He  is  stubborn." 

He  handed  it  to  the  servant  and  said: 

"Take  that  to  Mrs.  Bivens." 

Bivens  came  in  a  few  minutes,  shook  hands  cordially 
with  Stuart  and  ignored  Woodman. 

"I  want  to  see  you  alone  with  the  doctor, "  the  young 
lawyer  began,  "where  we  can  not  possibly  be  overheard. " 

The  financier's  keen  eyes  looked  piercingly  from  one 
to  the  other,  and  he  said  curtly: 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  299 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  this  man,  but  for  your  sake, 
all  right.  Come  up  to  the  library. " 

Once  in  the  room  and  the  door  closed  the  doctor 
sank  listlessly  into  a  chair,  seeing  nothing,  hearing 
nothing.  His  deep,  sunken,  bloodshot  eyes  were  turned 
within.  The  outer  world  no  longer  made  any  impression. 

Stuart  plunged  at  once  into  his  mission. 

"Cal,  you  and  I  have  been  friends  since  boyhood. 
I'm  going  to  ask  my  first  favour  of  you  to-night. " 

"For  yourself,  all  right;  you've  got  the  answer  before 
you  ask  it. " 

"We  can't  separate  our  lives  from  our  friends,  and  I 
owe  much  in  mine  to  the  man  for  whom  I'm  going  to 
speak." 

"If  you've  come  to  ask  me  to  settle  with  old  Wood 
man  for  any  imaginary  claim  he  has,  you're  wasting  your 
breath.  I  won't  hear  it.  So  cut  it ! " 

Bivens  spoke  with  quick  fierce  energy.  His  words 
fell  sharp  and  metallic. 

"I'm  not  asking  you  to  settle  any  old  imaginary 
claim,"  the  young  lawyer  went  on  rapidly,  "but  a  new 
one  that  can  only  appeal  to  the  best  that's  in  you. " 

"A  new  one?"  Bivens  cried  in  surprise. 

"Yes.  I  needn't  recall  what  passed  between  you 
and  the  doctor  the  night  of  the  ball. " 

"No,  I've  quite  a  clear  recollection  of  it,"  Bivens 
answered  grimly. 

"Let  it  be  enough  to  say  that  the  torture  you  in 
flicted  and  the  sights  he  saw  in  your  house  drove  him 
insane.  Hungry,  wretched,  in  despair  over  his  misfor 
tunes  and  the  promise  he  had  given  his  daughter,  whom 
he  loved  better  than  life,  in  a  moment  of  madness  he 
took  a  case  of  your  jewels. " 

"He  took  that  case  of  jewels?"  Bivens  cried  with 
excitement. 


300  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Yes." 

The  little  financier  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter, 
walked  over  to  the  chair  where  the  doctor  sat,  thrust  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  continued  to  laugh. 

"So,  that's  what  you  meant  by  laughing  and  sneering 
in  my  face  as  you  left  that  night,  you  d  -  -  d  old 
hypocrite!" 

Stuart  suddenly  gripped  Bivens  and  spun  him  around 
in  his  tracks. 

*  " That  will  do  now!  The  doctor  is  my  friend.  He's 
an  old  broken  man  to-night  and  he's  under  my  protec 
tion.  He  came  here  at  my  suggestion  and  against  his 
protest.  I  won't  stand  for  this." 

"Til  say  what  I  please  to  a  thief." 
,  "Not  this  one." 

Stuart  faced  the  little  dark  man  with  a  dangerous 
gleam  in  his  eye.  The  two  men  glared  at  each  other 
for  a  moment  and  Bivens  threw  up  his  hands  in  a  ges 
ture  of  disgust. 

"Well,  what  did  you  come  for?  To  ask  me  to  give 
him  a  pension  for  robbing  me  of  a  case  of  jewels?  I've 
accused  every  drunken  servant  in  the  house  of  the  act. 
Shall  I  send  one  of  them  to  the  penitentiary  and  give 
the  real  thief  a  medal  for  his  skill?  " 

"I  only  ask  that  you  allow  me  to  return  the  value  of 
your  jewels  and  drop  the  whole  affair. " 

Bivens's  eyes  narrowed  and  his  mouth  tightened 
viciously. 

"Can  the  District  Attorney  of  the  County  of  New 
York  compound  a  felony?" 

"I  resigned  my  office  this  morning. " 

Bivens  tried  to  seize  Stuart's  hand,  forgetting  for  a 
moment  the  jewels  in  the  bigger  announcement  which 
meant  the  acceptance  of  his  offer. 

He  spoke  in  low  excited  tones. 


The  Parting  of  the  Ways  301 

"  Congratulations!" 

Stuart  waved  aside  the  extended  hand  with  a  gesture 
of  annoyance. 

"You'll  drop  this  case,  of  course,  at  my  request?" 

Bivens  looked  at  the  bowed  figure  crouching  in  for 
lorn  indifference  before  him  with  a  smile  and  replied 
quickly: 

"I  will  not." 

"I  told  you  I'd  make  good  the  amount  to-morrow 
morning." 

"What  the  devil  do  you  suppose  I  want  with  your 
money?  Five  thousand  dollars  is  no  more  to  me  than 
five  cents  to  the  average  man. " 

He  paused,  laughed  and  again  stared  at  the  bowed 
figure. 

"Fve  waited  a  long  time,  old  man,  but  I've  got  you 
where  I  want  you  now. " 

The  doctor  never  lifted  his  head  or  moved  a  muscle. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  senseless  stare.  Only  the  body 
was  present.  The  soul  was  gone. 

-"I  say  I've  got  you  now!"  Bivens  repeated  angrily. 
"  Did  you  hear  me?  " 

Stuart  spoke  in  low  tones: 

"My  God,  Cal,  can't  you  see. " 

"Five  thousand!"  Bivens  cried  exultantly  —  "It's 
too  easy!  The  day  I  see  him  in  a  suit  of  stripes  —  I've 
never  done  such  a  thing  —  but  I'm  going  to  take  a  day 
off  and  get  drunk." 

"You  are  not  going  to  prosecute  him?"  —  Stuart 
asked  incredulously. 

"As  soon  as  I  can  telephone  for  an  officer." 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

"Don't  I?"  The  little  man  spoke  fiercely,  his  black 
eyes  glowing,  his  hands  trembling  as  they  opened  and 
closed  as  an  eagle's  claws. 


302  The  Root  of  Evil 

"  Look  here,  Cal." 

"It's  no  use  Jim,  this  is  my  affair. " 

"You've  asked  me  to  share  your  affairs." 

"Not  this  one." 

"Then  to  hell  with  you  and  all  your  affairs!  I'll 
fight  you  to  the  last  ditch"  —  Stuart's  words  rang 
with  fierce  decision. 

Bivens  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"What!     For  this  old  fool  you'd  reject  my  offer?" 

"Yes." 

"It's  a  joke!  I  see  you  doing  it.  Defend  him  if 
you  like.  I'll  have  good  lawyers.  I'll  enjoy  the  little 
scrap.  A  fight  between  us  in  public  just  now  will  be 
all  the  better  for  my  first  big  plans.  I'll  send  him  to 
Sing  Sing  if  it  costs  me  a  million!" 

Stuart  lifted  the  doctor  from  his  seat  and  faced  Bivens 
with  a  look  of  defiance.  "You  needn't  trouble  for  a 
warrant.  He  pleads  guilty.  Your  lawyers  can  fix 
the  day  for  his  sentence  and  I  want  you  to  be  there. " 

"I'll  be  there,  don't  you  worry!" 

"And,  Bivens,  as  you're  a  good  church  member,  you 
might  read  over  that  passage  of  scripture:  ' Vengeance 
is  mine,  I  will  repay  saith  the  Lord? ? " 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes,  I'm  going  to  show  you  that  you're  not  Almighty 
God  though  you  ^re  the  possessor  of  a  hundred  million 
dollars." 

"I'll  be  present  at  the  demonstration,  Jim.  Good 
night!" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  PLEA  FOR  JUSTICE 

Stuart  was  not  surprised  to  receive  notice  from 
Bivens's  lawyers  that  they  would  demand  sentence  on 
Woodman  within  two  days. 

The  financier  was  present  with  two  great  lawyers  who 
smilingly  assured  him  that  he  need  have  no  fear  as  to 
the  result.  Yet  the  little  man  was  uneasy.  He  fid 
geted  in  his  seat  and  watched  Stuart's  calm  serious  face 
with  dread. 

"Don't  worry,"  the  senior  counsel  assured  him  with 
confidence.  "The  old  Recorder  is  a  terror  to  every 
criminal  in  New  York.  Stuart's  plea  can  only  be  a 
formal  request  for  mercy,  which  he  will  not  get. " 

In  spite  of  all  assurance,  Bivens's  nervousness  in 
creased  as  the  hour  drew  near  for  the  case  to  be  called. 
He  looked  at  his  watch,  fuming  over  the  fact  that  Nan 
was  late.  He  wished  her  to  see  Stuart  and  find  out  what 
he  had  up  his  sleeve.  A  woman  could  do  such  tricks 
better  than  a  man.  He  looked  out  the  window  anxious 
ly,  and  saw  the  flash  of  his  big  French  limousine  rounding 
the  corner.  He  hurried  to  the  steps  to  meet  his 
wife. 

"Nan,  for  heaven's  sake  see  Jim  before  this  case  is 
called  and  find  out  what  he's  going  to  say  to  that  judge. " 

"I'll  do  my  best.  I'll  send  my  card  in  and  ask  him 
to  see  me  at  once." 

"Good.  When  he  returns  to  the  court  room  wait, 
and  I'll  come  out." 

303 


304  The  Root  of  Evil 

Bivens  went  back  to  his  seat  beside  his  lawyers  and 
watched  the  court  officer  speak  to  Stuart. 

He  frowned  and  hesitated,  rose  and  slowly  followed 
the  man  through  the  door. 

Nan  seized  his  hand. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I'm  so  worried.  Cal  says  you  are  going 
to  make  a  desperate  fight  against  him  this  morning  in 
this  disgusting  affair.  Is  it  so?" 

"I'm  going  to  make  the  usual  plea  for  mercy  for  an 
old  broken  man  —  my  friend. " 

"But  will  it  be  the  usual  plea?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  mince  words.  I'm  going  to  fight 
for  his  life  as  I  would  for  my  own. " 

The  woman  drew  close,  so  close  he  could  feel  her 
breath  on  his  cheek  as  she  whispered,  earnestly: 

"Please,  don't  do  or  say  anything  to-day  to  cause 
a  break.  I  couldn't  endure  it.  You  don't  know  how 
much  your  friendship  means  to  me. " 

"You  can  never  lose  that  again,  Nan,"  he  answered, 
simply. 

"But  I  must  see  you.  Your  visits  are  the  brightest 
spots  in  my  life.  A  break  with  him  now  would  plunge 
me  into  abject  misery.  What  are  you  going  to  say? 
Are  you  going  to  attack  Cal?  You  don't  have  to  do 
that,  Jim!  Promise  me  you  won't,  for  my  sake,  if  you 
care  nothing  for  the  brilliant  future  that  is  just  opening 
before  you.  You  do  care  something  for  me  in  spite  of 
all  the  wrong  I  have  done  you  in  the  past. " 

The  young  lawyer  remained  silent. 

"Promise  me,"  she  pleaded  tenderly,  a  tear  stealing 
into  her  dark  eyes. 

"I'm  going  to  do  my  level  best  for  my  old  friend, 
Nan,"  he  answered  with  dogged  determination.  "You 
needn't  worry  about  your  husband.  He  has  the  hide  of  a 
rhinocerous  and  nothing  I  can  say  will  get  under  his  skin. " 


A  Plea  for  Justice  305 

"But  that's  just  the  trouble,  Jim,  it  will.  If  any  other 
man  said  it,  no;  but  from  you  it  will  cut  deeper  than  you 
can  realize.  You  are  the  one  man  who  can  hurt  him  be 
yond  forgiveness,  because  you're  the  one  man  on  earth 
for  whom  he  really  cares." 

"It  will  be  all  right,  Nan.  Men  know  how  to  give  and 
take  hard  knocks  and  still  be  friends.  We  challenged 
each  other  to  this  duel  when  there  was  no  other  way." 

"I  never  saw  him  so  bent  on  any  one  thing  in  my  life. 
His  hatred  of  Woodman  is  a  mania. " 

"I'm  sorry  —  I'm  fighting  for  my  old  friend's  life. 
He  wouldn't  live  in  a  prison  a  year.  And  I'm  fighting 
for  the  life  of  his  little  girl  who  loves  and  believes  in 
him  as  she  believes  in  the  goodness  of  God.  If  her 
father  is  branded  a  felon,  it  will  kill  her. " 

Nan  tried  to  speak  again  and  her  voice  failed.  At 
last  she  said: 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  sit  where  I  can  look  straight  into 
your  face  and  if  you  say  or  do  one  thing  that  will  de 
stroy  our  friendship  or  ruin  your  future  I  shall  scream — 
I  know  it!" 

Stuart  smiled  and  pressed  her  hand. 

"You've  too  much  good  sense  and  self-control  for 
that.  I'll  risk  it.  Now  I  must  hurry.  Our  case  will 
be  called  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  turned  abruptly  and  left  her. 

In  a  moment  Bivens  came  out  and  led  his  wife  to 
a  seat  which  had  been  reserved  near  his. 

One  of  the  things  which  had  increased  Bivens's  ner 
vousness  was  the  fact  that  the  judge  ignored  his  presence 
in  the  court  room.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  defer 
ence  from  judges.  Here  was  a  new  thing  under  the 
sun  —  a  judge  in  an  insignificant  city  court  who  coolly 
sat  on  the  bench  before  him  for  an  hour,  sentencing 
criminals,  and  never  even  glanced  in  his  direction. 


306  The  Root  of  Evil 

Evidently  the  man  didn't  know  him.  It  was  amazing, 
this  ignorance  of  the  average  New  Yorker. 

The  truth,  of  course,  was  the  old-fashioned  Recorder 
had  not  been  trained  as  a  corporation  lawyer.  He  had 
fought  his  own  way  up  in  politics  from  the  ranks  of 
the  common  people.  He  was  a  man  with  red  blood 
in  his  veins,  a  man  of  intense  personal  likes  and  dis 
likes  and  a  fearless  dispenser  of  what  he  believed  to  be 
even-handed  justice  under  the  law. 

Stuart  had  based  his  plan  of  battle  squarely  on  his 
knowledge  of  this  judge's  character. 

As  Bivens  listened  to  the  sharp  ring  of  his  voice 
pronouncing  sentence  on  evil-doers  and  saw  the  officer 
snap  his  handcuffs  on  their  wrists  his  spirits  revived. 
His  lawyers  were  right,  after  all.  Nothing  Stuart  could 
say  would  affect  the  mind  of  such  a  man. 

The  young  lawyer  sat  in  silence  beside  the  bowed 
form,  awaiting  his  case  which  the  judge,  at  his  request, 
had  placed  last.  As  the  moment  drew  near  for  the 
plea  his  nerve- tension  grew  intense.  Waves  of  passion 
ate  emotion  swept  his  heart.  His  imagination  began 
to  blaze  with  fires  of  eloquence  that  had  been  his  birth 
right  from  two  generations  of  great  lawyers  in  the  South. 
Somehow  this  morning  the  scene  before  him  stirred 
his  spirit  with  unusual  power.  Every  crime  apparently 
on  the  calendar  had  its  origin  in  the  lust  for  money. 
Every  felon  sentenced  could  have  traced  his  ruin  to 
this  curse  —  thieves,  embezzlers,  burglars,  a  man  who 
had  killed  his  partner  in  a  dispute  over  money,  grafters, 
highwaymen,  and  last  of  all,  two  fallen  women  who  had 
been  amassing  a  fortune  out  of  the  ruin  of  their  sisters. 

The  figures  in  the  court  room  grew  dim  and  faded, 
and  out  of  the  mists  of  the  spirit  world  his  excited 
fancy  saw  a  crooked  Red  Shape  rise  over  all,  stretch 
forth  a  long  bony  hand  dripping  with  blood  and  filth 


A  Plea  for  Justice  307 

and  begin  to  throw  gold  into  a  black  bag.  The  face 
was  hideous,  but  a  crowd  of  worshipful  admirers  followed 
eagerly  in  the  footsteps  of  the  Red  Shape,  scrambling 
and  fighting  for  the  coins  that  slipped  through  the 
dripping  fingers. 

He  waked  from  his  day  dream  with  a  start,  to  hear  the 
clerk  read  in  quick  tones: 

"The  People  against  Henry  Woodman. " 

The  judge  looked  at  the  dazed  prisoner  and  said: 

"What  have  you  to  say,  Henry  Woodman,  why  sen 
tence  should  not  be  imposed  upon  you  for  the  crime  of 
which  you  stand  convicted  by  your  own  plea?  " 

With  a  quick  movement  of  his  tall  figure  Stuart  was 
on  his  feet,  every  nerve  and  muscle  strung  to  the  highest 
tension.  His  long  sinewy  hands  were  trembling  so 
violently  he  could  scarcely  hold  the  slip  of  paper  con 
taining  the  notes  he  had  scrawled  for  guidance  in  his 
address.  And  yet  when  he  spoke  it  was  with  apparent 
calmness.  Only  the  deep  tremulous  notes  of  his  voice 
betrayed  his  emotion. 

"May  it  please  your  honour,"  he  slowly  began,  "I 
wish  to  establish  to  the  court  before  I  say  anything  in 
behalf  of  my  client,  the  important  fact  that  he  offered 
to  make  full  restitution  of  the  property  taken,  that  he 
did  this  voluntarily  before  he  was  even  suspected  of 
the  crime,  and  that  his  offer  was  refused. " 

The  judge  turned  to  Bivens's  lawyers. 

"Is  this  admitted,  gentlemen?" 

"Without  question,  your  honour,"  was  the  instant 
answer. 

The  old  Recorder  lifted  his  gray  eyebrows  in  surprise, 
and  settled  back  into  his  seat  with  a  low  grunt. 

"I  make  the  fair  inference  therefore  in  the  beginning, " 
Stuart  went  on  evenly,  "that  the  prosecutor  in  the  case, 
who  appears  in  this  court  to-day  with  an  array  of  dis- 


308  The  Root  of  Evil 

tinguished  lawyers,  whose  presence  is  unnecessary  to 
serve  the  ends  of  justice,  is  here  actuated  solely  by  a 
desire  for  personal  vengeance. " 

Stuart  paused  and  Bivens  moved  uneasily  in  his  seat. 

"I  speak  to-day,  your  honour,  in  behalf  of  the  man  who 
crouches  by  my  side  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  grief 
and  conscious  dishonour  because  he  took  a  paltry  pack 
age  of  jewellery  from  a  man  who  has  never  added  one 
penny  to  the  wealth  of  the  world  and  yet  has  somehow 
gotten  possession  of  one  hundred  million  dollars  from 
those  who  could  not  defend  themselves  from  his  strength 
and  cunning.  This  man  stands  before  you  now  with 
no  shame  in  his  soul,  no  tears  on  his  cheeks,  and 
with  brazen  effrontery  demands  vengeance  on  a  weaker 
brother. 

"Two  men  are  on  trial,  not  one.  The  majesty  of 
the  law  has  already  been  vindicated  in  the  tear-stained 
plea  that  has  been  entered.  Between  these  two  men 
the  court  must  decide. 

"I  am  not  here  to  defend  the  crime  of  theft.  The  law 
of  property  has  long  been  omnipotent.  But  I  dare 
to  plead  with  your  honour  to-day  for  the  beginning  of 
a  new,  nobler,  higher  law  of  humanity  —  the  law  that 
shall  place  man  above  his  chattel.  I  shall  not  ask  for 
the  mercy  of  a  light  sentence.  I  am  going  to  appeal 
to  this  court  for  something  bigger,  more  divine.  I  am 
going  to  ask  for  justice  under  the  higher  law  of  man, 
whose  divine  code  is  yet  unwritten,  but  whose  day  is 
surely  dawning." 

The  judge  leaned  forward  with  one  hand  on  his  cheek, 
listening  intently  to  the  young  lawyer's  quivering  words. 
Bivens's  face  had  grown  livid  with  excitement,  and  he 
sat  staring  helplessly  at  the  speaker. 

"  Crime,  your  honour,  is  in  the  heart  of  man,  not  in 
the  act  he  performs.  If  I  shoot  at  a  target,  and  kill  a 


A  Plea  for  Justice  309 

bystander,  the  act  is  not  murder.  But  if  I  aim  at  my 
enemy  and  kill  my  friend  I  have  committed  murder. 
Out  of  the  heart  are  the  issues  of  life.  Under  the  laws 
of  to-day  the  act  of  this  man  is  called  a  crime.  Yet 
who  can  say  that  when  we  shall  have  slowly  emerged 
from  the  era  of  property  into  the  era  of  man,  his  act 
may  not  be  called  heroic?  Morals  are  relative  things. 
They  are  based  on  the  experiences  and  faith  of  the 
generations  which  express  them.  Men  were  once 
hanged  for  daring  to  express  an  opinion  contrary  to  that 
held  by  their  parish  priest.  Such  men  are  to-day  the  lead 
ers  of  the  world.  The  proud  and  cruel  silence  of  ancient 
Europe  has  been  succeeded  by  the  universal  cry  for 
equal  justice.  And  this  rising  chorus  of  the  world  is 
fast  swelling  into  the  deep  soul  conviction  which  cries: 
'I  will  not  make  money  out  of  my  brother  who  is 
hungry.  I  refuse  to  be  happy  while  my  sister  weeps 
in  shame.  I  will  not  caress  my  own  child  while  that 
of  my  neighbour  starves ! ' 

"I  am  not  excusing  crime.  I  am  crying  for  the 
equality  of  man  before  the  law.  The  English  people 
beheaded  their  king  because  he  imposed  taxes  without 
the  consent  of  their  parliament. 

"The  millionaire  who  demands  vengeance  against 
this  broken  man  to-day  has  an  income  greater  than 
the  combined  crowned  heads  of  Europe  and  wields  a 
sceptre  mightier  than  tzar  or  emperor. 

"Why? 

"He  levies  each  year  millions  of  taxes  without  con 
sulting  this  court,  the  legislature  or  any  man  who 
walks  the  earth.  He  does  this  by  a  machine  for  printing 
paper-tokens  of  value  called  stocks.  The  essence  of 
theft  is  to  take  the  property  of  another  without  giving 
a  return.  A  green  goods  man  sells  printed  paper  for 
money.  This  mighty  man  also  sells  printed  paper 


310  The  Root  of  Evil 

for  money.  What  is  the  difference?  Neither  the  green 
goods,  nor  the  bogus  capital  called  watered  stock 
represents  a  dollar  in  real  value.  Yet  we  send  the  green 
goods  man  to  the  penitentiary  and  bow  down  before 
the  other  as  a  captain  of  industry! 

"A  burglar  breaks  into  a  store  and  robs  the  safe. 
A  mighty  man  of  money  breaks  into  the  management  of 
a  corporation  which  owns  an  iron  mill  employing  thou 
sands.  He  shuts  down  the  plant,  throws  one  hundred 
thousand  people  into  want,  passes  the  dividend,  drives 
the  stock  down  to  a  few  cents  on  the  dollar,  buys  it 
for  a  song  from  the  ruined  holders,  starts  up  the  mill 
again  and  makes  five  millions!  That  is  to  say,  he  broke 
into  a  mill  and  robbed  the  safe  of  five  millions.  We 
send  the  burglar  to  the  penitentiary  and  hail  the  manip 
ulator  of  this  stock  as  a  Napoleon  of  Finance.  I  am 
not  justifying  crime.  I  demand  the  enforcement  of 
equal  justice  among  men. 

"An  enraged  Italian  stabs  his  enemy  to  death.  The 
•  act  is  murder.  This  man  corners  wheat.  Puts  up  the 
price  of  bread  a  cent  a  loaf  and  kills  ten  thousand  chil 
dren  already  half -starved  from  insufficient  food.  We 
electrocute  the  Italian  and  print  pictures  of  the  wheat 
speculator  in  our  magazines  as  an  example  of  Success. 

"  In  other  words,  the  theft  of  five  thousand  dollars  is 
grand  larceny.  The  theft  of  five  millions,  stained  with 
human  blood,  is  a  triumph  of  business  genius. 

"But  one  answer  is  heard,  'am  I  my  brother's  keeper?' 

"The  man  who  asks  that  question  will  always  kill 
his  brother  if  the  temptation  comes  at  the  right  moment. 

"A  loaf  of  bread  in  England  costs  two  and  one-half 
cents.  The  same  loaf  here  costs  five  cents.  Who 
voted  to  levy  a  tax  of  one  hundred  per  cent,  on  every 
man's  loaf  of  bread?  Kings  were  beheaded  for  less  than 
this.  Why  has  the  cost  of  living  increased  to  the  point 


A  Plea  for  Justice  311 

of  crushing  the  average  consumer?  Because  the  irre 
sponsible  rulers  of  the  people  have  piled  their  bogus  debts 
of  printed  paper  on  their  backs.  The  lowest  estimate 
of  this  bogus  capital  of  green  goods  stock  is  five  times 
the  sum  of  the  National  debt.  And  yet  not  one  of  these 
great  thieves  has  ever  been  punished. 

"Our  brutal  ancestors  lived  by  raiding  their  neigh 
bours.  Their  armed  bands  of  hired  retainers  ravaged, 
burned,  pillaged — the  strong  against  the  weak,  the 
shrewd  against  the  simple,  the  powerful  against  the 
defenseless.  The  power  of  those  savages  was  purely 
physical.  The  power  we  give  to  their  modern  proto 
type  is  both  physical  and  moral.  They  kill  the  body 
and  poison  the  souls  of  the  living.  The  older  savage 
made  raids  for  the  necessities  of  life.  We  permit  the 
raiders  to  play  their  murderous  game  for  the  sheer 
sport  of  the  exercise. 

"The  man  who  lives  to  serve  his  fellow-man,  the 
artist  who  creates  beauty,  the  philosopher  who  inspires 
the  mind,  the  statesman  who  adds  a  new  law  to  our 
social  structure,  the  inventor  who  conquers  nature, 
the  workingman  who  incarnates  the  dreams  of  thinkers 
into  spiritualized  matter  —  these  men  all  add  to  the 
wealth  of  the  world;  but  this  modern  marauder  whom 
we  have  enthroned  as  our  ruler  everywhere,  from  every 
one,  seizes,  tears,  and  despoils  the  fruits  of  toil,  and  has 
never  added  a  penny  to  the  wealth  of  humanity. 

"And  what  do  we  find  him  doing?  In  the  midst 
of  poverty  that  means  hunger  and  nakedness,  disease 
and  death,  we  have  the  shameless  flaunting  of  insane 
luxury.  And  to  what  purpose?  To  challenge  the  envy 
of  the  vain  and  the  foolish,  to  dazzle  the  minds  of  the 
poor  and  inflame  the  lusts  of  the  criminal. 

"Do  we  believe  that  such  things  are  the  decrees  of 
a  just  and  loving  God  who  created  this  world?  Slavery, 


312  The  Root  of  Evil 

Polygamy,  Famine,  and  Plague  were  once  universal 
scourges  and  accepted  as  the  mysterious  ways  of  God. 
We  have  outgrown  them  all  and  created  a  new  and  nobler 
God.  We  find  that  these  things  are  not  the  results  of 
his  law,  but  the  results  of  the  violation  of  law. " 

The  speaker  paused,  drew  close  to  the  judge  and  then 
in  low  impassioned  tones  told  as  if  he  were  talking 
to  a  father  the  story  of  Woodman's  life  and  the  events 
which  drove  him  to  madness  on  the  fatal  night  of  his 
crime.  In  flashes  of  vivid  eloquence  he  described  the 
magnificent  ball  and  drew  in  sombre  heart-breaking 
contrast  the  desolation  and  despair  of  a  proud  and  sen 
sitive  man  made  desperate  by  want  and  ruin,  the  man 
who  had  given  his  blood  to  his  country  and  his  daily  life 
in  an  unselfish  ministry  to  the  homeless  and  friendless. 

"  I  do  no  task  of  your  honour, "  he  cried  in  ringing  tones, 
"the  repeal  of  the  law  against  theft  —  thou  shalt  not 
steal !  This  law,  old  as  the  human  race,  will  be  as  good 
a  thousand  years  from  to-day  as  it  was  a  thousand  years 
ago.  I  only  ask  the  suspension  of  its  penalty  on  this 
heart-broken  man  until  we  can  extend  it  to  his  oppres 
sors  as  well,  until  its  thunder  shall  also  echo  through  the 
palaces  of  the  rich  —  thou  shalt  not  steal ! 

"The  prosecution  is  enforcing  the  law,  I  grant.  I 
appeal  to  this  court  to-day  for  more  than  man's  law. 
I  ask  for  divine  justice.  I  ask  for  a  bigger  thing  than 
the  law  itself  —  the  equality  of  all  men  before  the 
law! 

"The  possession  of  millions  may  not  constitute  true 
wealth,  but  it  always  means  power  over  men.  The 
thing  which  seems  to  be  wealth  may  be,  'tis  true,  'but 
the  gilded  index  of  far-reaching  ruin,  a  wrecker's  handful 
of  coin  gleaned  from  a  beach  whose  false  light  has 
beguilded  an  argosy,  a  camp  follower's  bundle  of  rags 
from  the  breast  of  goodly  soldier  dead,  the  purchase 


A  Plea  for  Justice  313 

price  of  potter's  fields',  but  it  still  means  the  power  of 
life  and  death  over  men ! 

"The  man  who  has  fallen  was  weak  and  poor.  The 
man  who  demands  his  life  is  rich  and  powerful.  You 
are  the  judge  between  them.  The  man  who  fell  stood 
alone  grappling  Death  and  Hell,  fought  and  lost  his 
battle  once.  I  appeal,  your  honour,  to  the  higher 
law  of  the  soul  within  you,  within  me,  within  this  pris 
oner,  within  the  breast  even  of  his  enemy  —  through 
struggle  alone  we  triumph  at  last!  I  ask  for  a  heart 
broken  man  another  chance.  I  ask  this  court  to  sus 
pend  all  sentence  against  the  poor  bruised  and  bleeding 
spirit  that  lies  in  tears  at  our  feet  to-day. " 

Stuart  suddenly  sat  down  amid  a  silence  that  was 
painful.  A  woman's  sob  at  last  broke  the  stillness. 

The  judge  wheeled  in  his  armchair,  cleared  his  throat 
and  looked  out  of  the  window  to  hide  from  the  crowd  a 
tear  that  had  stolen  down  his  furrowed  cheek. 

He  turned  at  length  to  Bivens's  lawyers  and  quietly 
asked: 

"The  State  insists  on  the  enforcement  of  sentence 
without  mercy?" 

"Absolutely,"  was  the  sharp  answer. 
"This  is  your  desire,  Mr.  Bivens?"  the  judge  asked 
with  some  severity. 

"Yes,"  the  financier  fiercely  replied. 

"And  yet  you  say  that  you  are  a  Christian  —  well, 
see  to  it  —  your  Master  says: 

"  l  He  that  saith  I  love  God  and  hateth  his  brother 
is  a  liar.'  Henry  Woodman,  stand  up!" 

"The  judgment  of  this  court  is  that  sentence  in  your 
case  be  suspended  so  long  as  you  obey  the  law. " 

A  murmur  of  applause  rippled  the  crowd,  and  a  mut 
tered  oath  fell  from  Bivens's  livid  lips. 

"And  I  may  say  to  you,  Henry  Woodman,  that  my 


314  The  Root  of  Evil 

faith  is  profound  that  you  will  never  appear  in  this  court 
again.  And  if  you  ever  need  the  help  of  a  friend  you'll 
find  one  if  you  come  to  me.  You  are  a  free  man. " 

Stuart  hurried  the  doctor  out  of  the  crowd.  He  had 
important  work  yet  to  do.  He  determined  that  no 
story  of  the  scene  should  ever  be  printed  in  a  New  York 
paper.  He  would  save  Harriet  that,  too. 

As  the  court  adjourned  Bivens  cursed  his  lawyers  in 
a  paroxysm  of  helpless  rage. 

"Why  didn't  you  appeal?"  he  stormed. 

"There  is  no  appeal.     The  case  is  ended. " 

"  Ended ! "     The  financier  gasped. 

"Ended." 

Bivens  suddenly  threw  his  hand  to  his  forehead, 
staggered  and  sank  to  the  floor. 

A  doctor  who  was  near  rushed  to  his  side  and  lifted 
his  head  into  his  wife's  arms. 

"What  is  it?  Has  he  fainted,  doctor?  "  she  whispered, 
glancing  toward  the  door  through  which  Stuart  had 
just  passed. 

"He  has  had  a  stroke  of  oaralysis,  Madam,  I  fear," 
was  the  serious  answer. 


TBoofe  3  —  Cfie  JFlotoer 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    DEVIL    SMILES 

Stuart's  appeal  to  the  New  York  papers  in  behalf 
of  Harriet  was  successful.  For  a  week  he  bought  every 
morning  and  evening  edition  and  read  them  eagerly. 
Not  a  line  appeared  to  darken  the  life  of  his  little  pal. 

Bivens's  illness  shook  the  financial  world.  The  men 
who  had  professed  his  friendship  most  loudly  to  his  face 
now  sharpened  their  knives  for  his  wounded  body. 
Every  stock  with  which  his  name  was  linked  was  the 
target  of  the  most  savage  attacks.  The  tumbling  of 
values  in  his  securities  carried  down  the  whole  market 
from  five  to  six  points  in  a  single  day. 

The  great  palace  that  had  a  few  nights  before  blazed 
with  lights  and  echoed  with  music,  laughter,  song  and 
dance  and  clinking  glasses,  stood  dark  and  silent  behind 
its  bristling  iron  fence. 

Of  all  the  fawning  crowd  that  had  thronged  its  portals 
to  drink  the  wine  and  toast  the  greatness  of  its  master, 
not  one  was  his  friend  to-day.  Each  sycophant  of 
yesterday  was  now  a  wolf  prowling  in  the  shadows, 
awaiting  the  chance  to  tear  his  wounded  body. 

Within  the  darkened  palace  the  doctors  were  supreme. 
In  his  great  library  they  held  consultation  after  con 
sultation  and  secretly  smiled  when  they  thought  of 
the  figures  they  would  write  on  his  bills.  They  dis- 

315 


316  The  Root  of  Evil 

agreed  in  details,  but  all  agreed  on  the  main  conclusion 
—  that  the  only  hope  was  that  he  should  quit  work  and 
play  for  several  years. 

When  they  made  this  solemn  announcement  to 
Bivens,  he  smiled  for  the  first  time.  It  was  too  good  a 
joke.  How  could  he  play?  He  knew  but  one  game, 
the  big  game  of  the  man-hunt!  He  told  his  doctors 
politely  but  firmly  that  they  might  go  to  hell,  he  would 
go  to  Europe  and  see  if  there  were  doctors  over  there 
who  knew  anything. 

The  shaking  miserable  little  figure  staggered  up  the 
gang  plank  of  a  steamer.  He  made  a  brave  show  of 
strength  to  the  reporters  who  swarmed  about  him  for 
an  interview  and  collapsed  in  the  arms  of  his  wife  on 
reaching  his  staterooms. 

He  had  forgotten  his  resentment  on  account  of  Wood 
man  in  the  presence  of  the  Great  Terror,  whose  shadow 
had  suddenly  darkened  the  world,  and  clung  with 
pathetic  eagerness  to  Stuart's  friendship. 

The  young  lawyer  had  said  good-bye  to  Nan  with  a 
sense  of  profound  relief.  From  the  bottom  of  his  soul 
he  thanked  God  she  was  going.  It  had  been  impossible 
to  keep  away  from  her,  and  each  day  he  had  felt  the 
sheer  physical  magnetism  of  her  presence  more  and 
more  resistless. 

He  returned  with  renewed  energy  and  enthusiasm  to 
the  practice  of  law.  The  wide  fame  he  had  achieved 
as  district  attorney  brought  him  the  best  clients  and 
from  them  he  was  able  to  choose  only  the  cases  which 
involved  principles  worth  fighting  for. 

His  spare  time  he  gave  in  a  loving  effort  to  restore  the 
doctor  to  his  old  cheerful  frame  of  mind.  He  had 
returned  Bivens's  money  in  spite  of  his  protest  and 
made  his  old  friend  a  loan  sufficient  for  his  needs,  taking 
his  personal  note  for  security. 


The  Devil  Smiles  317 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  learning  the  progress  of  Bivens 
in  his  search  of  Europe  for  health. 

A  troop  of  reporters  followed  him  daily.  His  doings 
were  chronicled  with  more  minute  details  than  the 
movements  of  kings.  If  he  sneezed,  it  was  cabled  to 
America.  In  every  capital  of  the  Old  World  he  was 
received  with  what  amounted  to  royal  honours.  His 
opinions  were  eagerly  sought  by  reigning  sovereigns. 
The  daily  cabled  reports  to  New  York  always  gave  his 
condition  as  better. 

But  Stuart  knew  the  truth.  He  received  two  or  three 
letters  a  week  from  Nan.  She  had  told  him  in  full 
detail  the  little  man's  suffering,  and  at  last  of  his  home 
sickness,  fast  developing  into  a  mania. 

He  was  not  surprised  at  the  end  of  three  months  to 
hear  her  familiar  voice  over  his  telephone. 

"Yes,  we've  returned,  Jim  —  sailed  incognito  to 
escape  the  reporters.  He  is  very  feeble.  We  haven't 
been  in  the  house  three  hours,  but  he  has  asked  for  you 
a  dozen  times.  Can  you  come  up  at  once?" 

Stuart  hesitated  and  she  went  on  rapidly. 

"Please  come  without  delay.  I  promised  him  not 
to  leave  the  'phone  until  I  got  you.  You  will  come?" 

"Yes,  I'll  come,"  he  answered  slowly. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  groan. 

"It's  Fate!"  he  said  bitterly.  "Every  time  I  feel 
that  I'm  fighting  my  way  to  a  place  of  safety,  the  devil 
bobs  up  serenely  with  an  excuse  so  perfect  it  can't  be 
denied.  It  won't  do;  I'll  tear  my  tongue  out  sooner 
than  speak." 

He  repeated  these  resolutions  over  and  over  before 
reaching  the  Bivens  mansion  only  to  find  that  he  had 
lost  all  sense  of  danger  in  the  warmth  and  tenderness 
of  Nan's  greeting.  He  not  only  forgot  his  fears  but 
reproached  himself  for  his  low  estimate  of  her  character 


318  The  Root  of  Evil 

in  supposing  that  she  would  allow  herself  or  permit  him 
to  cross  the  line  of  danger.  Her  solicitude  for  Bivens 
seemed  deep  and  genuine. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Jim,"  she  begged,  "try  to  cheer 
him  up.  He  has  grown  to  feel  that  you  are  the  only 
real  friend  he  has  ever  known." 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  he  answered,  soberly. 
Bivens's  joy  at  meeting  Stuart  was  pathetic,  and 
moved  him  deeply.  He  was  surprised  to  find  him  so 
strong,  apparently,  in  body  and  yet  so  broken  in  spirit. 
"Lord,  it's  good  to  look  into  your  face  again,  Jim! 
You  know  I  haven't  seen  you  really  since  that  day  in 
court  when  you  gave  me  such  a  cussin'.  But  it  was  all 
in  your  day's  work.  It  hurt  for  the  minute,  but  I 
didn't  blame  you  when  I  thought  it  over.  Now  I'm 
up  against  the  biggest  thing  I've  ever  struck."  His 
voice  sank  to  a  half  sob.  "Death!  I  can  feel  his  hand 
on  my  throat,  but  I'm  going  to  fight;  I've  got  to  get 
well." 

The  little  shrunken  hand  clung  to  his  friend's. 
"You  know  I  felt  the  thing  creeping  on  me  for  the 
past  two  years,  but  I  couldn't  let  up.  That's  why  I 
tried  so  hard  to  put  some  of  the  load  on  your  shoulders. 
At  least  you  can  help  me  to  get  well.  To  the  devil 
with  the  doctors!  I'm  tired,  too,  of  all  the  sycophants, 
liars  and  fools  who  hang  around.  I  didn't  mind  'ern 
when  I  was  well.  But  they  get  on  my  nerves  now. 
The  doctors  kept  dinning  into  my  ears  that  I've  got  to 
rest  and  play  and  finally  one  old  duffer  over  in  France 
put  an  idea  into  my  head  that  brought  me  back  home  to 
see  you.  He  told  me  to  get  on  a  small  boat  with  a 
single  nurse  and  a  congenial  friend,  get  away  from  land, 
cut  every  telephone  and  telegraph  line,  get  no  mail, 
and  shoot  ducks  all  winter  and  he'd  guarantee  I'd  be 
a  new  man  next  spring.  I  took  to  the  idea.  He 


The  Devil  Smiles  3{9 

charged  me  two  dollars  for  the  visit.  I  paid  him  a 
hundred  for  his  advice.  He  nearly  dropped  dead  in 
surprise.  I  thought  it  was  from  gratitude,  but  found 
afterward  it  was  from  chagrin  over  not  knowing  I  was 
an  American  millionaire.  He  had  missed  the  oppor 
tunity  of  his  life.  He  would  undoubtedly  have  charged 
me  five  hundred  had  he  known  who  I  was." 

Stuart  laughed. 

"Well,  the  upshot  of  it  is,  I'm  here,  and  I've  sent  for 
you  to  accept  the  invitation  you  gave  me  to  shoot 
ducks  with  you  down  in  Virginia." 

"What  invitation?"  Stuart  asked  in  surprise. 

"Why,  the  one  you  used  to  reproach  me  for  not  ac 
cepting.  Will  you  go  with  me  now?  " 

Stuart  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  go,"  he  said  slowly. 

He  was  looking  vaguely  into  the  fire  in  the  grate,  but 
Nan's  figure  was  within  the  line  of  his  vision  as  she 
stood  silently  by  the  window  gazing  out  on  the  river. 
Bivens  hadn't  said  that  she  must  go  on  that  trip,  but 
in  a  flash  of  warning  intuition  he  knew  it.  The  danger 
of  such  a  situation  on  a  yacht  would  be  real  and  only 
a  fool  would  rush  into  it.  He  wondered  if  she  had 
played  any  part  in  hatching  the  scheme.  He  couldn't 
believe  it  possible.  It  had  come  about  naturally, 
just  as  if  the  devil  had  made  it  to  order. 

"Can't  go?  Why?  "  the  financier  asked  in  tones  of 
genuine  distress. 

"I've  important  legal  business." 

"  I'll  make  good  all  the  damages,  if  you'll  let 
me." 

"But  I  won't  let  you." 

"If  I  ask  it  as  a  special  favour  ?"  he  pleaded. 

"There's  no  use  in  my  going,  Cal,"  Stuart  said  per 
suasively,  "I  can  tell  you  exactly  where  to  go,  the 


320  The  Root  of  Evil 

guides  to  get,  and  the  kind  of  boats  you'll  need.  You'll 
get  along  better  without  than  with  me." 

"I  won't  go  without  you,"  the  financier  said  peev 
ishly. 

"But  why?" 

"Dozens  of  reasons.  You  know  the  place,  you  know 
all  about  the  birds,  you  can  teach  me  the  ins  and  outs 
of  the  business  and  I  can  trust  you.  I  know  that  you 
won't  try  to  worm  out  of  me  any  information  my 
enemies  would  like  to  know.  Besides,  Jim,  you're  a 
friend.  It  would  rest  and  help  me  to  be  with  you  on 
such  a  trip.  I  can't  offer  you  money,  you  won't  let 
me.  All  right.  I  appeal  to  the  boy  I  used  to  know  at 
college,  the  fellow  who  fought  for  me  one  day.  I  need 
you  worse  now,  old  man." 

Stuart  hesitated  and  looked  at  Nan  who  had  stood 
motionless1  while  Bivens  spoke. 

"Well,  if  that's  the  way  you  put  it,  I'll  take  a  vacation 
and  go  with  you  for  a  month." 

Bivens  seized  his  hand  and  pressed  it  gratefully. 

"Best  medicine  I've  had  in  weeks." 

Nan  walked  slowly  across  the  room,  looked  into  his 
eyes  and  said,  with  emotion: 

"Thank  you,  Jim." 

And  the  devil  who  was  standing  in  the  shadows  smiled 
*  in  anticipation  of  interesting  events  on  board  that 
yacht. 


CHAPTER  II 

BESIDE  BEAUTIFUL  WATERS 

In  five  days  the  party  had  completed  all  preparations 
and  Bivens's  big  steamer,  the  Buccaneer,  slipped  quietly 
through  the  Narrows  and  headed  for  the  Virginia  coast, 
towing  a  trim  little  schooner  built  for  cruising  in  the 
shoal  waters  of  the  South. 

They  had  scarcely  put  to  sea  when  Stuart  began  to 
curse  himself  for  being  led  into  such  a  situation. 

Bivens  had  insisted  with  amateurish  enthusiasm  that 
they  begin  the  cruise  on  the  little  schooner  —  with  her 
limited  crew  and  close  quarters  —  at  once,  and  use  the 
Buccaneer  as  her  tender.  The  moment  they  struck  the 
swell  outside  Sandy  Hook  the  financier  went  to  bed  and 
the  doctor  never  left  his  side  until  the  trip  ended. 

Nan  was  in  magnificent  spirits,  her  cheeks  flushed 
and  her  eyes  sparkling  with  the  joy  of  a  child.  Stuart 
watched  her  with  growing  wonder  at  her  eternal  youth. 
She  was  more  beautiful  in  her  stylish  yachting  costume 
than  the  day  she  landed  in  New  York,  at  nineteen. 
There  was  not  a  line  in  the  smooth  surface  of  her  rounded 
neck  and  shoulders. 

The  night  was  one  of  extraordinary  springlike  air 
though  it  was  the  fifteenth  of  December.  A  gentle 
breeze  was  blowing  from  the  south  and  the  full  moon 
flooded  the  smooth  sea  with  soft  silvery  radiance.  Nan 
insisted  that  Stuart  sit  on  deck  with  her.  There  was 
no  help  for  it.  Bivens  would  allow  no  one  except  the 
doctor  in  his  room,  and  so  he  resigned  himself  to  the 

321 


322  The  Root  of  Evil 

beauty  of  the  glorious  scene.  Not  a  sound  broke  the 
stillness  save  the  soft  ripple  of  the  water  about  the  bow 
of  the  swan-like  yacht. 

Nan  sat  humming  a  song,  when  she  suddenly  stopped 
and  leaned  toward  Stuart. 

"Jim!"  she  said,  softly. 

He  looked  up  with  a  start. 

"I  honestly  believe  you  were  asleep!"  she  laughed 
with  a  touch  of  petulance. 

"No,"  he  protested  seriously.  "I  was  just  drinking 
in  the  joy  of  this  wonderful  night." 

"Forgetting  that  I  exist  ?  " 

Stuart  looked  at  her  intently  a  moment  and  said, 
gravely : 

"As  if  any  man  who  ever  knew  you,  could  forget!" 

"I  don't  like  your  attitude,  Jim,  and  I  think  we'd 
better  fight  it  out  here  and  now  in  the  beginning  of 
this  trip." 

"And  what  is  my  offense?" 

"Not  offense,  but  defense." 

"Why  Nan!  " 

"It's  useless  to  deny  it,"  she  said  banteringly.  "You 
hesitated  to  come  on  deck  with  me  in  the  moonlight 
this  evening.  You've  kept  trotting  to  Cal's  stateroom, 
when  he  only  begs  to  be  let  alone." 

"  Honestly - 

"It's  no  use  to  shuffle.  I'm  going  to  be  perfectly 
frank  with  you.  Your  assumption  of  such  chilling 
virtue  is  insulting.  I  wish  an  apology  and  a  promise 
never  to  do  so  again. " 

"Have  I  really  made  you  feel  this?"  he  asked,  con 
tritely. 

"You  have,  and  feel  it  keenly.  Let's  come  to  an 
understanding.  You  and  I  both  live  in  glass  houses 
set  on  a  very  high  hill.  No  matter  what  may  be  the 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  323 

secrets  of  my  heart,  I'm  not  a  fool  and  you  can  trust 
my  good  sense." 

Stuart  pressed  her  hand,  and  said  gently: 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  if  I've  made  such  an  ass  of  myself 
that  you  have  received  this  impression." 

"  You  repent?" 

"In  sackcloth  and  ashes." 

"Then  I  forgive  you,"  she  cried,  with  a  laugh, 
releasing  her  hand  and  rising,  "but  on  one  condition." 

"Name  it." 

"That  from  this  hour  you  be  your  old  self,  without 
restraint,  and  let  me  be  mine." 

"I  promise  faithfully." 

"Then  you  can  help  me  down  that  steep  companion- 
way  and  I'll  go  to  bed." 

He  held  her  hand  with  firm  grasp  as  she  picked  her 
way  down  the  steps.  Her  eyes  looked  straight  into  the 
depths  of  his  as  her  face  almost  touched  him.  He  was 
sure  that  she  had  felt  the  mad  impulse  to  take  her  in 
his  arms  that  quivered  in  every  nerve  and  muscle  of 
his  body,  for  his  hand  trembled  and  she  smiled. 

At  her  stateroom  door  she  paused,  smiled  again  and 
said: 

"Good  night." 

His  answer  was  very  low. 

"Goodnight." 

But  he  didn't  spend  a  good  night.  The  longer  he 
thought  of  it  the  more  sinister  and  dangerous  he  felt 
his  position.  At  last  he  squarely  faced  the  fact  that 
his  desire  for  Nan  had  increased  a  hundred-fold  by  the 
fact  that  he  had  lost  her,  and  that  it  might  become  a 
dangerous  mania  under  the  conditions  of  physical 
nearness  which  this  little  schooner  made  inevitable. 

As  he  sat  in  the  darkness  in  his  stateroom  he  could 
hear  every  sound  in  the  adjoining  one  which  she  oc- 


324  The  Root  of  Evil 

cupied  as  plainly  as  if  the  thin  panelling  of  wood  were 
not  between  them. 

He  was  a  fool  to  be  caught  in  such  a  trap!  His  love 
had  been  too  big  and  serious  a  tragedy  to  end  in  a  vulgar 
intrigue.  There  was  something  painful  and  stupefying 
in  the  spell  which  she  threw  over  his  senses.  He  realized, 
too,  that  she  had  put  him  practically  at  her  mercy  by 
the  promise  he  had  given.  And  what  made  it  all  the 
more  dangerous  was  that  she  was  sincere,  and  apparently 
sure  of  herself. 

He  made  up  his  mind  to  cut  his  trip  short  on  some 
pretext,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would  devote  himself 
faithfully  to  an  attempt  to  start  Bivens  on  the  road  to  a 
recovery  of  his  shattered  health. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  black  nose  of 
the  Buccaneer  slowly  felt  her  way  into  Hog  Island 
Inlet  on  the  shores  of  old  Virginia  and  dropped  her 
anchor  in  the  deep  waters  of  the  channel  back  of  the 
sand  spit  on  which  the  U.  S.  Life  Saving  station  is  built. 

As  Stuart  stepped  on  deck  a  great  flock  of  thousand 
of  brant  swept  in  from  sea  and  pitched  on  the  h 
beyond  the  channel.     A  cloud  of  black  ducks  circle^ 
gracefully   overhead   and   slowly   spread  out  on   their 
feeding  grounds  beyond  the  brant. 

His  heart  gave  a  throb  of  primitive  joy.  He  was  a 
boy  again,  and  the  world  was  young. 

"Confound  them!"  he  cried.  "I'll  show  these  ducks 
a  trick  or  two  before  this  trip  is  over." 

He  was  glad  he  came.  To  the  devil  with  worry  and 
women  and  all  the  problems  of  the  universe!  He 
watched  the  flight  of  the  birds  for  half  an  hour,  en 
tranced  with  the  memories  they  evoked.  He  made 
up  his  mind  to  stay  the  whole  month  out  and  get  even 
with  them  for  a  hundred  bitter  disappointments  they 
had  given  him  in  the  past. 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  325 

The  long  gleaming  sweep  of  the  Broadwater  Bay, 
stretching  from  the  tip  of  the  Cape  Charles  peninsula 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Delaware,  was  literally  alive  with 
ducks. 

Bivens  had  put  him  in  command  of  the  little  schooner 
and  he  gave  orders  at  once  to  lower  a  tender  and  tow 
her  to  an  old  anchorage  he  knew  in  a  little  cove  behind 
Gull  Marsh. 

And  then  his  trouble  began  with  Bivens. 

Stuart  rushed  to  his  stateroom  and  described  the 
prospects  of  a  great  day  in  the  blinds  with  boyish 
enthusiasm.  It  didn't  move  Bivens,  except  to  rage. 

"Let  'em  fly  if  they  want  to,  I'm  not  going  to  budge. 
Go  yourself,  Jim." 

Stuart  was  furious,  and  began  to  talk  to  Bivens  as 
if  he  were  a  schoolboy. 

"Go  myself!"  he  cried  with  rage.  "What  do  you 
suppose  I  gave  up  my  work  and  came  down  here  a 
month  for?" 

"To  shoot  ducks,  of  course,"  the  financier  answered, 
politely. 

"I  came  to  try  to  teach  you  how  to  live,  you  fool, 
and  I'm  not  going  without  you.  Get  into  your  togs! 
The  guides  are  here  and  ready.  The  tide  waits  for  no 
man,  not  even  a  millionaire;  it's  ebbing  now." 

"Well,  let  it  ebb,  I  don't  want  to  stop  it!"  the  sick 
man  snarled. 

Nan  came  in,  pressed  Stuart's  hand  as  she  passed, 
nodded  good  morning  and  joined  her  voice  to  Stuart's. 

"Come,  you  must  go,  Cal.     It's  a  glorious  day." 

The  doctor  slipped  in  a  word,  too. 

"By  all  means,  Mr.  Bivens,  get  your  hand  in  the 
first  day." 

Bivens  lifted  himself  to  a  half-sitting  posture,  glared 
at  his  physician  and  yelled  with  fury: 


326  The  Root  of  Evil 

"  Get  out  —  all  of  you  —  and  let  me  alone! " 

The  doctor  and  Nan  left  on  tip-toe,  but  Stuart  folded 
his  arms  and  looked  at  Bivens. 

"I'd  just  like  to  choke  you, "  he  quietly  said  at  last. 

Bivens  turned  on  him  with  rage. 

"How  dare  you  speak  to  me  in  that  manner?" 

Stuart  broke  into  a  laugh  and  sat  down  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  deliberately  fixing  him  with  a  contemptuous 
look. 

"Well,  of  all  the  gall  I've  ever  encountered  —  did 
you  say  dare  to  me?  What  do  you  take  me  for,  one 
of  your  servants?  If  you  weren't  sick  I'd  slap  you." 

"You'd  better  not  try  it,"  the  little  man  growled. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Bivens,  this  is  too  ridiculous,  a 
quarrel  the  first  day  of  our  shooting.  But  you'll  have 
to  get  one  thing  fixed  in  your  head  once  for  all;  you  don't 
run  the  entire  world.  The  telephone,  telegraph  and 
mail  service  have  been  suspended.  The  Buccaneer 
has  put  to  sea  for  New  York.  You're  on  a  little  eighty- 
foot  schooner,  anchored  in  a  bay  ten  miles  wide  and  a 
hundred  miles  long  and  I'm  in  command.  I  won't 
stand  any  nonsense  from  you.  Come  down  off  your 
perch,  quick!" 

Bivens  started  to  swear,  caught  the  expression  of 
Stuart's  face  and  suddenly  extended  his  hand. 

"I'm  sorry,  Jim;  you  must  not  mind  my  foolishness. 
I've  had  the  temper  of  the  devil  the  last  few  months, 
and  I'm  used  to  making  everybody  hop  when  I  get  mad. 
I  guess  I'm  spoiled.  Forget  it,  old  boy,  go  ahead  and 
have  a  good  time  by  yourself  to-day.  I'm  out  of  sorts 
from  that  sea-sickness.  You  don't  mind  what  I  said?" 

"No,"  Stuart  slowly  answered,  "but  don't  do  it 
again." 

"I  won't.  It  was  awfully  nice  of  you  to  come.  I'll 
stay  in  to-day,  but  you  go  and  get  some  ducks  for  dinner, 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  327 

like  a  good  boy,  and  say  —  take  Nan  along  and  teach 
her  to  shoot.  It's  getting  to  be  the  rage  among  the 
high-flyers  for  the  women  to  shoot." 

" Please  do,  Jim!"  Nan  cried  from  the  door.  She 
had  listened  outside  to  the  duel  in  the  stateroom. 

"All  right,"  he  answered,  gaily,  " quick  about  it. 
You've  got  a  rig?" 

"Yes,  a  half  dozen,"  she  cried,  with  childish  glee. 
"Come  into  my  stateroom  and  show  me  which  one  to 
put  on  to-day." 

"Oh,  you  have  one  for  each  day  of  the  week? " 

"Yes,  of  course;  why  not?" 

Stuart  stepped  gingerly  inside  and  inspected  the  suits 
she  laid  out  on  her  bed. 

He  turned  them  over  and  laughed. 

"What's  wrong?"  she  asked. 

"  They're  all  wrong.  These  things  were  made  to  hunt 
butterflies  in  the  tropics,  not  ducks  in  Virginia." 

"Can't  I  wear  either  of  them?"  she  asked  in  dis 
may. 

"If  you  could  get  all  six  of  them  on,  one  on  top  of  the 
other  and  wear  your  flannels." 

"But  I  don't  wear  flannels." 

"All  right,  put  on  two  of  these  gossamer  webs, 
two  heavy  sweaters  and  wrap  yourself  in  oil  skins  and 
maybe  you  won't  freeze." 

"Must  I?"  she  sighed;  "I'll  look  like  a  fright." 

"What's  the  difference?  You've  got  to  hide  from  the 
ducks,  anyhow.  No  one  else  will  stroll  down  these 
wide  avenues  to-day." 

"You'll  be  there." 

He  dropped  his  voice  instinctively. 

"Well,  you'll  always  look  the  same  to  me  whether 
you  are  dressed  in  silk  or  cotton  bagging." 

She  looked  up   quickly  with  a  startled  expression, 


328  The  Root  of  Evil 

began  to  say  something,  changed  her  mind  and  spoke 
in  a  matter-of-fact  voice: 

"Then  get  out  and  I'll  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes." 

When  she  appeared  on  deck,  Stuart  sat  down  and 
laughed  heartily.  She  had  managed  to  dress  herself 
warmly  and  yet  look  pretty  as  a  picture.  Her 
jaunty  little  hunting  hat  was  tipped  with  an  eagle's 
feather.  She  wore  a  brown  sweater  of  the  finest  heavy 
wool  over  her  jacket.  The  corduroy  skirt  came  to  the 
knees,  and  she  had  on  the  most  remarkable  pair  of 
wading  boots  he  had  ever  seen.  They  were  made  of 
brown  cloth-covered  rubber  and  cut  to  the  shape  of  the 
leg  like  the  old-fashioned  leather  boots  of  ancient 
knights. 

Stuart  helped  her  down  the  gangway  and  took  his 
seat  by  her  side  in  the  tender.  In  five  minutes  they 
were  towed  to  the  blind  the  old  guide  had  selected  for 
the  day's  shooting. 

The  blinds  are  made  of  cedar  bushes  stuck  into  the 
mud  in  such  a  way  that  the  little  gunning  boat  just  fits 
inside.  When  the  tide  ebbs  enough  for  the  ducks  to 
reach  bottom  they  come  in  to  feed  on  their  favourite 
wild  celery. 

The  guide  took  the  tender  to  keep  the  ducks  moving 
and  left  them  alone. 

He  had  scarcely  gone  when  a  pair  of  black  ducks 
started  for  the  decoys.  Just  as  they  were  about  to 
settle,  in  spite  of  Stuart's  warning,  Nan  popped  her  head 
over  the  bushes  to  see  where  they  were. 

Quick  as  a  flash  they  leaped  a  hundred  feet  into  the 
air  and  left  for  parts  unknown  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred 
miles  an  hour. 

"That's  great!"  Stuart  cried,  in  disgust. 

"I'm  sorry,  Jim,"  she  said,  contritely.  "I  won't  do  it 
again.  But,  you  know,  I'm  glad  they  got  away  after  all." 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  329 

"Yes?" 

" Because  they  were  mates;  didn't  you  see  the  beau 
tiful  colours  on  the  drake's  head?  And  what  a  yell  he 
gave  to  his  girl  when  he  saw  me?  Aren't  you  really 
glad  they  got  away?  " 

"I  am  not!"  he  answered,  emphatically.  "Don't 
you  dare  to  do  that  again." 

"I  won't,  honest.  I'll  kill  the  next  one  myself. 
Tell  me  just  when  to  get  up;  I'll  shoot  him  just  like  I 
do  a  clay  pigeon  at  the  trap,  without  sighting,  just  by 
instinct." 

"Exactly,  but  please  remember  you  are  not  shoot 
ing  clay  pigeons.  A  duck  has  an  eye  that  can  see  the 
movement  of  your  hand  three  miles  away,  remember 
that  —  keep  your  head  down,  there  comes  one  now!" 

"Where?" 

"Sh!  keep  down,  I  tell  you!" 

"I  am  —  but  where,  which  side,  where  is  he?" 

Again  Nan's  big  dark  eyes  slowly  peered  over  the 
top  of  the  blind  and  the  eagle's  feather  in  her  hat  moved. 

With  a  sharp  cry  the  duck  swung  out  of  range  and 
was  gone. 

"Oh,  Jim,  I  didn't  do  that.  I  declare  I  didn't  move! 
He  squawked  just  for  nothing  and  flew  away." 

"Yes,  of  course,  he  dreamed  he  saw  an  eagle  after  him. 
Ducks  often  go  to  sleep  flying  and  have  nightmares." 

"I  won't  do  it  again,  please  don't  get  cross  now." 
She  laid  her  hand  on  his.  He  smiled  and  said  nothing. 

"You're  not  angry,  Jim?"  she  asked,  peeping  around 
shyly.  She  was  sitting  in  the  front  of  the  boat  with 
her  back  toward  him. 

"How  could  any  man  get  angry  at  such  a  wonderful 
shot.  You  never  cripple  them,  they  just  drop  at  the 
crack  of  your  gun.  I  think,  however,  they  die  of  fright. 
We  will  know  to-night  when  we  eat  them  for  dinner 


330  The  Root  of  Evil 

whether  the  shot  killed  them  or  you  just  scared  them 
to  death." 

"  Don't  be  nasty,  Jim,  I'll  let  you  shoot  the  very 
next  one.  I  won't  move." 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  when  Stuart  seized  her  arm 
with  a  sudden  fierce  grip. 

"  Sh  —  now,  as  still  as  death ! "  he  whispered.  "  Don't 
you  dare  move  or  speak  or  whisper,  or  breathe  aloud." 

"I  won't!"  Nan  groaned,  crouching  low. 

"He's  circling  the  blind,  but  he's  coming  in  sure," 
he  whispered. 

Just  then  the  live  decoy  goose  raised  his  head,  saw 
his  friend  in  the  air,  and  broke  into  a  shrill  cry  that  rang 
like  a  trumpet  over  the  smooth  waters  of  the  bay. 

Nan  sprang  to  her  feet  crying: 

"It's  a  goose!" 

"Yes,  two  of  them;  one  right  here  in  the  blind!" 
Stuart  laughed. 

"No,  no!  There  he  goes,  Jim!  Look,  isn't  he  a 
big  one? ' 

"A  very  fine  goose,  but  not  nearly  so  plump  and  nice 
as  the  one  we  have  here." 

Nan  looked  puzzled  a  moment,  blushed  and  sat  down. 

"Jim,  I  think  you're  awfully  mean.  He  was  going  the 
other  way  when  I  saw  him.  I  didn't  scare  him.  You 
know  I  didn't." 

"Certainly  not!"  was  the  scornful  answer.  "He 
just  turned  around  and  went  back  to  pick  up  a  feather 
he  dropped.  He'll  call  again  some  day." 

Nan  peeped  around  to  see  if  he  were  angry,  delib 
erately  rose,  turned  and  sat  down  on  the  bow  of  the  boat 
facing  Stuart,  smiling  at  him,  mischievously. 

"Let's  not  shoot  to-day,  Jim! "  she  pleaded. 

"We  won't,"  he  answered,  dryly. 

"You  know  I  think  this  blind  is  such  a  cute  little 


Beside  Beautiful  Waters  331 

house,  with  the  blue  sky  above  and  the  still,  beautiful 
waters  stretching  away  into  the  mists  around  us;  isn't 
it?" 

"  Dangerously  beautiful  to  mere  mortals,  I'm  afraid, 
Nan!"  he  answered  soberly. 

"Not  if  they  are  sensible,  as  you  and  I.  Come,  you 
can't  be  angry  to-day.  I'm  too  happy.  You  don't 
really  care  about  ducks  anyhow,  do  you?  I  want  to 
talk.  I'm  in  fairyland  alone  with  the  old  sweetheart 
of  my  girlish  dreams!  And  you're  ten  times  better 
looking  than  you  were  then,  Jim." 

Stuart  broke  into  a  boyish  laugh,  and  gave  up  to  the 
charm  of  her  chatter. 

For  hours  they  sat  laughing  and  joking.  The  years 
rolled  back,  the  fevered  life  of  the  great  city  faded,  and 
they  were  boy  and  girl  again. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  in  a  sea  of  scarlet  they  were 
startled  by  the  approach  of  the  tender. 

The  guide  took  up  the  decoys,  and  made  fast  their  boat 
to  tow  them  back  to  the  yacht. 

His  comment  on  the  day's  work  was  brief : 

"Great  sport!" 

He  winked  at  Stuart,  grasped  the  tiller  of  the  tender 
and  signalled  to  the  man  at  the  engine  to  let  her  go. 

The  old  man  was  unusually  quiet  in  the  crew's 
quarters  that  night.  It  was  nine  o'clock  before  he 
startled  the  cook  with  a  sudden  remark: 

"Gee,  but  she's  a  beauty!" 

"Who's  a  beauty?" 

"Sometimes  he  called  her  'Nan,'  sometimes  he  called 
her  'Dianner.'" 

"Oh!" 

"You  know  what  I'd  like  to  do?" 

"No,  what?" 

"She's  so  purty,  I  feel  that  I  want  to  put  out  one. 


332  The  Root  of  Evil 

finger  —  just  like  that  —  and  tech  her  ter  see  ef  she'd 
fly!" 

"Oh,  hell!"  the  cook  sneered.  "Her  wings  ain't 
sprouted  yet;  wait  till  you  see  her  riled." 

For  five  days  Bivens  stuck  to  his  bed  with  dogged 
determination,  and  each  day  Stuart  went  out  with  Nan. 

Never  had  she  been  more  resistlessly  charming. 
With  tireless  fancy  he  watched  the  wind  blow  the  ring 
lets  of  black  hair  across  her  rosy  cheeks,  while  her  deep 
eyes  sparkled  with  joy.  Sometimes  he  imagined  her 
the  daughter  of  Venus  suddenly  risen  from  the  sea,  the 
dim  roar  of  whose  surf  he  could  hear  behind  the  white 
sands  of  the  beach.  Each  day  she  grew  more  and  more 
dependent  on  him,  until  her  whole  life  seemed  to  move 
only  at  his  command.  Each  day  their  association  grew 
in  tender  intimacy  and  every  fear  that  had  stirred  his 
heart  at  first  was  lulled  at  last  to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  TEMPTER'S  VOICE 

On  the  sixth  day  Bivens  rose  early  and  declared  that 
he  would  try  the  ducks.  The  day  before  had  been,  in 
the  local  vernacular,  a  " weather  breeder" — a  day  of 
breathless  seas,  a  soft  haze  hanging  from  the  sky,  a 
lazy,  sensuous,  dreamy,  alluring  tenderness  in  the  air. 

The  barometer  was  falling  now  and  dark,  snowy- 
looking  clouds  were  piling  up  on  the  western  horizon. 
A  breeze  came  stealing  out  of  the  cloud-banks  with  the 
chill  of  snow  in  its  breath. 

Bivens  insisted  on  going  out  at  once,  against  the 
advice  of  Stuart  and  the  protest  of  the  guide.  He  not 
only  insisted  on  going  after  the  ducks  but,  what  was 
worse,  swore  that  he  was  going  to  get  his  mail  and 
telegrams  from  the  shore. 

Stuart  protested  vigorously. 

"I've  told  you  that  the  guide  is  the  only  man  who 
can  run  that  tender  over  the  crooked  course  to  the 
mainland,  and  if  he  goes  away  we'll  have  no  one  to  take 
us  out." 

"What  do  you  need  a  guide  for?  It's  not  a  half- 
mile  to  those  blinds.  I've  seen  you  every  day  go  back 
and  forth  in  plain  view  of  the  yacht.  Nan  could  row 
out  there  and  back  by  herself.  Send  him  ashore. 
Don't  you  know  how  to  put  out  your  own  decoys  ?" 

He  spoke  with  the  stubbornness  of  a  spoiled  child. 

"If  a  bad  blow  comes  we'll  need  two  strong  men  to 
handle  the  boat." 

333 


334  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Rot!"  Bivens  cried.  "We've  got  two  tenders. 
Send  your  guide  ashore  with  one  of  the  sailors  to  run 
his  engine.  The  other  man  can  tow  us  out  and  back." 

Against  his  judgment  he  allowed  Bivens  to  have  his 
way. 

The  little  man  clambered  on  deck  and  bustled  about, 
giving  orders  to  the  sailor  who  was  stowing  the  lunch 
and  ammunition. 

When. Stuart  stopped  the  tender  at  the  first  blind, 
about  five  hundred  yards  away,  Bivens  protested. 

"Here,  here!  I'm  no  mollycoddle  if  I  have  been 
sick.  I  can  throw  a  stone  to  this  blind.  This  isn't 
the  one  I  want.  There  it  is  down  yonder  toward  the  end 
of  that  marsh.  I  saw  thousands  of  ducks  circling 
around  it  yesterday." 

"But  they'll  come  here  to-day,"  Stuart  urged.  "The 
wind  has  shifted  and  they  shift  their  course  with  the 
wind.  This  blind  is  all  right. " 

"I  won't  have  it!"  Bivens  stormed.  "Go  to  the 
other!" 

"This  is  all  right  to-day,  I  tell  you,"  Stuart  replied. 

Bivens's  face  flushed  with  rage. 

"Look  here,  Jim,  I've  given  in  to  you  every  day  we've 
been  down  here.  I'm  going  to  have  my  way  this  tune." 

He  turned  to  the  sailor  who  was  running  the  tender's 
engine  and  spoke  sharply. 

"  Go  to  that  other  blind! " 

The  sailor  sprang  to  the  wheel  and  the  tender  shot 
ahead.  Stuart  settled  back  in  his  seat  with  angry 
disgust,  and  Bivens  laughed. 

"Cheer  up,  it's  no  use  to  give  orders  for  a  funeral  yet, 
If  we  can't  get  back  to  that  yacht  in  fifteen  minutes 
against  any  wind  that  blows  to-day,  I'll  eat  my  hat. 
I'm  feeling  better  than  I  have  for  months.  I'm  in  for 
a  good  time.  Don't  be  a  piker." 


The  Tempter's  Voice  335 

Stuart  determined  to  make  the  best  of  it. 

1  'All  right,"  he  answered  cheerfully. 

"I'll  be  responsible  for  any  trouble  that  comes,  so 
don't  you  worry." 

"  You're  not  in  New  York  now,  Cal,"Stuart  said  with  a 
grunt.  "You  may  own  the  earth,  but  the  sea  still  has 
a  way  of  its  own." 

"Good  Lord,  man,  I  could  walk  back  to  the  yacht  at 
low  water,  it  all  goes  bare." 

"Yes,  unless  the  wind  hauls  in  to  the  northeast  and 
rolls  in  a  big  tide  through  that  inlet." 

"All  right,  let  her  roll.  The  tender  will  come  back 
and  pull  us  in." 

By  the  time  the  decoys  were  out  it  began  to  spit  snow, 
and  the  wind  had  freshened. 

As  the  sailor  was  about  to  start  back,  Stuart  spoke 
sharply: 

"Listen  to  me  now,  Niels." 

The  Norwegian  tipped  his  cap  and  stood  at  attention. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Keep  a  sharp  watch  on  this  weather.  If  you  see  the 
wind  haul  to  the  north,  put  a  compass  in  your  tender, 
take  your  bearing  from  the  yacht  to  this  blind,  in  case 
it  should  shut  in  thick,  and  come  after  us  in  double- 
quick  time.  You  understand?  " 

"Yes  sir." 

"If  it  looks  bad,  don't  wait  too  long." 

"I'll  watch  it,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  response,  as  he 
stooped  to  start  his  wheel. 

"And  Niels!"  Stuart  called  again.  "If  it  should  be 
blowing  a  gale  you'd  better  bring  the  cook  along  to 
steer  while  you  watch  your  engine.  Have  him  fix  a 
light  supper  before  he  starts. 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  he  cried,  as  the  little  craft  shot 
away,  leaving  a  streak  of  white  foam  in  her  wake. 


336  The  Root  of  Evil 

Bivens  was  vastly  amused  at  Stuart's  orders. 

"Jim,  you're  as  fussy  as  an  old  maid.  You  ought 
to  marry  and  join  the  human  race." 

Stuart  scanned  the  horizon,  watching  a  flock  of  ducks 
working  their  way  northward.  The  sign  was  ominous. 
Birds  know  which  way  the  wind  is  going  to  blow  before 
it  comes,  and  if  a  gale  is  on  the  way  they  always  work 
into  the  teeth  of  it.  They  are  all  equipped  with 
barometers  somewhere  inside  their  little  brain-cells. 

It  was  useless  to  tell  this  to  Bivens.  He  didn't  have 
sense  enough  to  understand  it.  But  he  quietly  made  up 
his  mind  to  take  up  the  decoys  and  row  in  as  soon  as  the 
tide  ebbed  down  to  two  feet  of  water. 

In  the  meantime  he  would  make  the  best  of  the 
situation.  The  ducks  began  to  come  in  and  decoy 
like  chickens.  He  killed  half  a  dozen  and  in  the  ex 
citement  began  to  forget  the  foolhardiness  of  the  trip. 

Bivens  shot  a  dozen  times,  missed,  got  disgusted  and 
began  to  fret  and  complain. 

At  first  Stuart  made  no  answer  to  his  nagging  sug 
gestions  until  Bivens  got  to  the  one  thing  that  had 
evidently  been  rankling  in  his  heart. 

"  Jim,  you're  the  biggest  puzzle  I  ever  struck.  Every 
time  I  look  at  you  I  have  to  rub  my  eyes  to  see  if  I'm 
awake.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  the  mental  proc 
ess  by  which  you  rejected  my  offer?  " 

"  What's  the  use  to  discuss  it,  I've  made  up  my  mind 
-  and  that's  the  end  of  it." 

"But  I  want  to  know,"  Bivens  persisted.  "Your 
silence  on  the  subject  makes  me  furious  every  time  I 
think  of  it.  How  any  human  being  outside  of  an  in 
sane  asylum  could  be  so  foolish  is  beyond  my  ken." 

"I  know  it  is,  so  let's  drop  it,"  Stuart  interrupted. 

"I  won't  drop  it.  You  rile  me.  You're  the  only 
man  I've  struck  on  this  earth  that  didn't  have  his  price." 


The  Tempter's  Voice  337 

"  Perhaps  we  have  different  ways  of  fixing  values. 
To  me  value  is  a  thing  which  gives  life.  If  it  brings 
death  is  it  valuable?  You  are  not  yet  fifty  years  old 
and  a  wreck.  What's  the  use?  What  can  you  do 
with  your  money  now?" 

"It  brings  luxury,  ease,  indulgence,  power,  admira 
tion,  wonder,  and  the  envy  of  the  world." 

"  What's  the  good  of  luxury  if  you  can't  enjoy  it; 
ease  if  you  never  take  it;  indulgence  when  you  have  lost 
the  capacity  to  play;  power  if  you're  too  busy  getting 
more  to  stop  and  wield  it?" 

"Jim,  you're  the  biggest  fool  I  ever  knew,  without 
a  single  exception,"  Bivens  said,  petulantly. 

Stuart  glanced  anxiously  toward  the  yacht.  It  was 
three  o'clock.  The  tide  had  ebbed  half  out  and  there 
was  barely  enough  water  on  the  flats  now  for  the  tender 
to  cross.  It  was  snowing  harder  and  the  wind  had 
begun  to  inch  in  toward  the  north. 

"No  more  ducks  to-day,  Cal,"  Stuart  said  briskly, 
returning  to  his  tone  of  friendly  comradeship.  "We've 
got  to  get  away  from  here.  It's  getting  colder  every 
minute.  It  will  be  freezing  before  night." 

"Well,  let  it  freeze,"  Bivens  cried,  peevishly.  "  WThat 
do  we  care?  It's  just  ten  minutes'  run  when  the  tender 
comes." 

To  Stuart's  joy  he  saw  the  men  start  the  tender. 

"It's  all  right,  they're  coming  now!"  he  exclaimed. 
"We'll  have  another  crack  or  two  before  they  get  here." 

He  crouched  low  in  the  blind  for  five  minutes  without 
getting  a  shot,  rose  and  looked  for  the  tender.  To  his 
horror  he  saw  her  drifting  helpless  before  the  wind,  her 
engine  stopped  and  both  men  waving  frantically  their 
signals  of  distress. 

"My  God!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  tender's  engine 
is  broken  down." 


338  The  Root  of  Evil 

Bivens  rose  and  looked  in  the  direction  Stuart  pointed. 
"Why  don't  the  fools  use  the  oars?  " 
"They  can't  move  her  against  this  wind!" 
"Will  they  go  to  sea?"  Bivens  asked,  with  some 
anxiety. 

"No,  they'll  bring  up  somewhere  on  a  mud  flat  or 
marsh  in  the  bay  on  this  low  water,  but  God  help  them 
if  they  can't  fight  their  way  back  before  flood  tide." 

"Why?"  Bivens  asked,  incredulously. 

"They'd  freeze  to  death  in  an  open  boat  to-night." 

"Norwegian  sailors?  Bosh!  Not  on  your  life!  They 
were  born  on  icebergs." 

Stuart  rose  and  looked  anxiously  at  the  receding  tide. 
He  determined  to  try  to  reach  the  yacht  at  once.  He 
put  the  guns  into  their  cases,  snapped  the  lids  of  the 
ammunition  boxes,  stowed  the  ducks  he  had  killed  under 
the  stern  of  the  boat,  and  stepped  out  into  the  shallow, 
swiftly  moving  water.  He  decided  to  ignore  Bivens  and 
regard  him  as  so  much  junk.  He  pulled  the  boat  out 
of  the  blind,  shoved  it  among  the  decoys,  and  took 
them  up  quickly  while  the  little  financier  sat  muttering 
peevish,  foolish  complaints. 

"Now  if  you  will  lie  down  on  the  stern  deck,  I'll 
see  if  I  can  shove  her." 

"Why  can't  I  sit  up?"  Bivens  growled. 

"You  can,  of  course,  but  I  can't  move  this  boat 
against  the  wind  if  you  do." 

"All  right,  but  it's  a  rotten  position  to  be  in  and  I'm 
getting  cold." 

Stuart  made  no  reply,  but  began  to  shove  the  little 
boat  as  rapidly  as  possible  across  the  shallow  water. 

The  snow  had  ceased  to  fall  and  the  cold  was  in 
creasing  every  moment.  He  scanned  the  horizon 
anxiously,  but  could  see  no  sign  of  the  disabled  tender. 

He  had  gone  perhaps  two  hundred  yards  when  the 


The  Tempter's  Voice  339 

boat  grounded  on  the  flats.  He  saw  at  once  that  it 
was  impossible  to  make  the  yacht  until  flood  tide. 
The  safest  thing  to  do  was  to  get  out  and  push  to  the 
island  marsh,  two  or  three  hundred  yards  away.  There 
they  could  take  exercise  enough  to  keep  warm  until 
the  tide  came  in  again.  It  would  be  a  wait  of  two  hours 
in  bitter  cold  and  pitch  darkness,  but  there  was  no  help 
for  it." 

Bivens  sat  up  and  growled : 

"What  the  devil's  the  matter?  Can't  you  hurry 
up,  I'm  freezing  to  death!" 

"We  can't  make  it  on  this  tide.  We'll  have  to  go  to 
the  marsh." 

"  Can't  we  walk  over  the  flats  and  let  the  boat  go?  " 

"I  could  walk  it,  but  you  couldn't." 

"Why  not?"  Bivens  asked,  angrily. 

"Because  you  haven't  the  strength.  This  mud  is 
six  inches  deep  and  tough  as  tar.  You'd  give  out 
before  you'd  gone  two  hundred  yards." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort!"  Bivens  protested,  viciously. 
"I'll  show  you!'3 

He  stepped  out  of  the  boat  and  started  wading  through 
the  mud.  He  had  made  about  ten  steps  when  his  boot 
stuck  fast,  he  reeled  and  fell.  The  water  was  less  than 
six  inches  deep  but  his  arms  were  wet  to  the  skin  as  far 
as  the  elbows,  and  the  icy  water  got  into  his  boots  and 
drenched  his  feet. 

Stuart  picked  him  up  without  comment  and  led  him 
back  to  the  boat.  Bivens  was  about  to  climb  in  when 
the  lawyer  spoke  quickly: 

"You  can't  sit  down  now.  You've  got  to  keep  your 
body  in  motion  or  you'll  freeze.  Take  hold  of  the 
stern  of  the  boat  and  shove  her." 

Muttering  incoherent  curses  the  little  man  obeyed 
while  his  friend  walked  in  front,  pulling  on  the  bow  line. 


340  The  Root  of  Evil 

In  fifteen  minutes  they  reached  the  marsh  and  began 
the  dreary  tramp  of  two  hours  until  the  tide  should  rise 
high  enough  to  float  their  boat  again. 

"Why  can't  we  walk  along  this  marsh  all  the  way  to 
where  the  yacht  lies?"  Bivens  asked,  fretfully.  "We 
can  fire  a  gun  and  the  doctor  can  help  us  on  board." 

"We  can't  go  without  the  boat.  The  marsh  is  a 
string  of  islands  cut  by  three  creeks.  The  doctor  has 
no  way  to  get  to  us.  Both  tenders  are  gone." 

Stuart  kept  Bivens  moving  just  fast  enough  to  main 
tain  the  warmth  of  his  body  without  dangerous  exhaus 
tion. 

The  wait  was  shorter  than  expected.  The  tide  sud 
denly  ceased  to  run  ebb  and  began  to  come  in.  The 
reason  was  an  ominous  one.  The  wind  had  hauled 
squarely  into  the  north  and  increased  its  velocity  to 
forty  miles  an  hour  and  each  moment  the  cold  grew 
more  terrible.  Stuart  found  the  little  boat  afloat 
on  the  flood  tide,  jumped  in  without  delay  and  began 
his  desperate  battle  against  wind  and  tide. 

It  was  absolutely  necessary  for  Bivens  to  keep  his 
body  in  motion,  so  Stuart  gave  him  an  oar,  and  ordered 
him  to  get  on  his  knees  and  help  shove  her  ahead.  He 
knew  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  keep  his  feet. 

Bivens  tried  to  do  as  he  was  told  and  made  a  mess 
of  it.  He  merely  succeeded  in  shoving  the  boat  around 
in  a  circle,  preventing  Stuart  from  making  any  headway. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Bivens  yelled  above  the  howl 
of  the  wind.  "You're  pushing  against  me,  just  spin- 
ing  around.  Why  don't  you  keep  her  straight?" 

Stuart  saw  they  could  never  make  headway  by  that 
method,  turned  and  shot  back  into  the  marsh. 

"Get  out!"  he  shouted  sternly.  "You  can  walk 
along  the  edge  —  I  can  shove  her  alone." 

Bivens  grumbled,  but  did  as  he  was  ordered. 


The  Tempter's  Voice  341 

"Don't  you  leave  the  edge  of  that  marsh  ten  feet!" 
Stuart  shouted,  cheerfully.  "I  think  we'll  make  it 
now." 

"All  right,"  was  the  sullen  answer. 

It  was  a  question  whether  one  man  had  the  strength 
to  shove  the  little  boat  through  the  icy,  roaring  waters 
and  keep  her  off  the  shore.  He  did  it  successfully  for 
a  hundred  yards  and  the  wind  and  sea  became  so  fierce 
he  was  driven  in  and  could  make  no  headway.  He 
called  Bivens,  gave  him  an  oar  and  made  him  walk  in 
the  edge  of  the  water  and  hold  the  boat  off  while  he 
placed  his  oar  on  the  mud  bottom  and  pushed  with 
might  and  main  to  drive  her  ahead. 

Again  and  again  he  was  on  the  point  of  giving  up 
the  struggle.  It  seemed  utterly  hopeless. 

It  took  two  hours  of  desperate  battling  to  make  half 
a  mile  through  the  white,  blinding,  freezing,  roaring 
waters. 

The  yacht  now  lay  but  three  hundred  feet  away  from 
the  edge  of  the  marsh.  Stuart  could  see  her  snow-white 
side  glistening  in  the  phosphorescent  waves  as  they 
swept  by  her.  The  lights  were  gleaming  from  her 
windows  and  he  could  see  Nan's  figure  pass  in  the  cabin. 

As  he  stood  resting  a  moment  before  he  made  the 
most  difficult  effort  of  all  to  row  the  last  hundred  yards 
dead  to  the  windward,  he  caught  the  faint  notes  of  the 
piano.  She  was  playing,  utterly  unconscious  of  the 
tragic  situation  in  which  the  two  men  stood  but  a  hun 
dred  yards  away.  The  little  schooner  was  still  aground 
resting  easily  on  her  flat  bottom  in  the  mud,  where 
the  tide  had  left  her  as  it  ebbed.  Unless  she  went  on 
deck,  it  was  impossible  for  Nan  to  realize  the  pressure 
of  the  wind. 

She  was  playing  one  of  the  dreamy  waltzes  to  which 
she  had  danced  amid  the  splendours  of  her  great  ball. 


342  The  Root  of  Evil 

The  music  came  over  the  icy  waters  accompanied  by 
the  moan  and  shriek  of  the  wind  through  the  rigging  with 
unearthly  weird  effect. 

"Say,  why  do  we  stop  so  much?"  Bivens  growled. 
"I'm  freezing  to  death.  .Let's  get  to  that  yacht!' 

"We'll  do  our  best,"  Stuart  answered  gravely,  "and 
if  you  know  how  to  pray  now's  your  time." 

"Oh,  Tommyrot!"  Bivens  said,  contemptuously, 
"I  can  throw  a  stone  to  her  from  here." 

" Get  in ! "  Stuart  commanded.  "And  lie  down  again 
flat  on  your  back." 

Bivens  obeyed  and  the  desperate  fight  began. 

He  made  the  first  few  strokes  with  his  oars  success 
fully  and  cleared  the  shore,  only  to  be  driven  back 
against  it  with  a  crash.  A  wave  swept  over  the  little 
craft  dashing  its  freezing  waters  into  their  faces. 

Stuart  drew  his  hand  across  his  forehead  and  found 
to  his  horror  the  water  was  freezing  before  he  could 
wipe  it  off. 

He  grasped  Bivens's  hands  and  found  a  cake  of  ice 
on  his  wrist.  He  shoved  the  boat's  nose  again  into  the 
wind  and  pulled  on  his  oars  with  a  steady,  desperate 
stroke,  and  she  shot  ahead.  For  five  minutes  he  held 
her  head  into  the  sea  and  gained  a  few  yards.  He  set 
his  feet  firmly  against  the  oak  timbers  in  the  boat's 
side  and  began  to  lengthen  his  quick,  powerful  stroke. 
He  found  to  his  joy  he  was  making  headway.  He 
looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  that  he  was  half  way. 
He  couldn't  be  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  and 
yet  he  didn't  seem  to  be  getting  any  nearer.  It  was 
now  or  never.  He  bent  to  his  oars  with  the  last  ounce 
of  reserve  power  in  his  tall  sinewy  frame,  and  the  next 
moment  an  oar  snapped,  the  boat  spun  round  like  a 
top  and  in  a  minute  was  hurled  back  helpless  on  the 
marsh. 


The  Tempter's  Voice  343 

As  the  sea  dashed  over  her  again  Bivens  looked  up 
stupidly  and  growled: 

"Why  the  devil  don't  you  keep  her  straight?" 

Stuart  sprang  out  and  pulled  the  numbed  man  to  his 
feet,  half  dragged  and  lifted  him  ashore. 

"Here,  here,  wake  up!"  he  shouted  in  his  ear.  " Get 
a  move  on  you,  or  you're  a  goner."  He  began  to  rub 
Bivens's  ice-clad  wrists  and  hands,  and  the  little  man 
snatched  them  away  angrily. 

"  Stop  it ! "  he  snarled.    "  My  hands  are  not  cold  now." 

"No,  they're  freezing,"  he  answered  as  he  started 
across  the  marsh  in  a  dog  trot,  pulling  Bivens  after  him. 
The  little  man  stood  it  for  a  hundred  yards,  suddenly 
tore  himself  loose  and  angrily  faced  his  companion. 

"Say,  suppose  you  attend  to  your  own  hide  —  I  can 
take  care  of  myself." 

"I  tell  you,  you're  freezing.  You're  getting  numb. 
As  soon  as  I  can  get  your  blood  a  little  warm  we've  got 
to  wade  through  that  water  for  a  hundred  yards  and 
make  the  yacht." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Bivens  said,  with  dogged 
determination.  "I'll  stay  here  till  the  next  tide  and 
walk  out  when  the  water's  ebbed  off." 

Stuart  shook  him  violently  and  shouted  above  the 
shriek  of  the  wind. 

"Do  you  know  when  that  will  be,  you  fool?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  care.  I'm  not  going  to  plunge 
into  that  icy  water  now." 

"The  tide  won't  be  out  again  before  four  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning." 

"All  right  we'll  walk  around  here  until  four." 

"You'll  freeze  to  death,  I  tell  you!  Your  hands  and 
feet  are  half  frozen  now." 

"I'm  not  half  as  cold  as  I  was,"  Bivens  whined, 
fretfully. 


344  The  Root  of  Evil 

"  You're  losing  the  power  to  feel.  You've  got  to 
plunge  into  that  water  with  me  now  and  we  can  fight 
our  way  to  safety  in  five  minutes.  The  water  is  only 
three  feet  deep,  and  I  can  lift  you  over  the  big  waves. 
We'll  be  there  in  a  jiffy.  Come  on!" 

He  seized  his  arm  again  and  dragged  him  to  the  edge 
of  the  water.  Bivens  stopped  short,  tore  himself  from 
Stuart's  grip  and  kicked  his  shins  like  a  vicious,  enraged 
schoolboy. 

"I'll  see  you  to  the  bottomless  pit  before  I'll  move 
another  inch!"  he  yelled  savagely.  "Go  to  the  devil 
and  let  me  alone.  I'll  take  care  of  myself,  if  you'll 
attend  to  your  own  business." 

Stuart  folded  his  arms  and  looked  at  him  a  moment, 
debating  the  question  as  to  whether  he  would  wring 
his  neck  or  just  leave  him  to  freeze. 

Bivens  rushed  up  to  the  lawyer  and  tried  to  shake 
his  half-frozen  fist  in  his  face. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,  that  I've  taken  all  I'm 
going  to  from  you  to-day,  Jim  Stuart!"  he  fairly 
screamed.  "Put  your  hand  on  me  again  and  I'll  kill 
you  if  I  can  get  hold  of  one  of  these  guns.  I  want  you 
to  remember  that  I'm  the  master  of  millions." 

"Yesterday  in  New  York,"  Stuart  answered  with 
contempt,  "you  were  the  master  of  millions.  Here 
to-night,  on  this  marsh,  in  this  desert  of  freezing  waters, 
you're  an  insect,  you're  a  microbe! " 

"I'm  man  enough  to  take  no  more  orders  from  a 
one-horse  lawyer,"  Bivens  answered,  savagely. 

"All  right,  to  hell  with  you!"  Stuart  said,  contemp 
tuously,  as  he  turned  and  left  him. 

He  began  to  walk  briskly  along  the  marsh  to  keep 
warm. 

Nan  was  playing  the  soft  strains  of  an  old-fashioned 
song.  He  stopped  and  listened  a  moment  in  awe  at 


The  Tempter's  Voice  345 

the  strange  effects.  The  sob  and  moan  of  the  wind 
through  the  yacht's  shrouds  and  halyards  came  like 
the  throb  of  a  hidden  orchestra,  accompanying  the 
singer  in  the  cabin.  The  old  song  stirred  his  soul.  The 
woman  who  was  singing  it  was  his  by  every  law  of 
nature.  The  little  shrivelled,  whining  fool,  who  would 
die  if  he  left  him  there,  had  taken  her  from  him;  not 
by  the  power  of  manhood,  but  by  the  lure  of  gold  that 
he  had  taken  from  the  men  who  had  earned  it. 

All  he  had  to  do  to-night  was  to  apply  the  law  of 
self-interest  by  which  this  man  had  lived  and  waxed 
mighty,  and  to-morrow  he  could  take  the  woman  he 
loved  in  his  arms,  move  into  his  palace  its  master  and 
hers.  There  could  be  no  mistake  about  Nan's  feelings. 
He  had  read  the  yearning  of  her  heart  with  unerring 
insight.  Visions  of  a  life  of  splendour,  beauty  and 
power  with  her  by  his  side  swept  his  imagination.  A 
sense  of  fierce,  exultant  triumph  filled  his  soul.  But 
most  alluring  of  all  whispered  joys  was  the  dream  of 
their  love-life.  The  years  of  suffering  and  denial,  of 
grief  and  pain,  of  bitterness  and  disappointment  would 
make  its  final  realization  all  the  more  wonderful.  She 
was  just  reaching  the  maturity  of  womanhood,  barely 
thirty-one,  and  had  yet  to  know  the  meaning  of  love's 
real  glory. 

" She's  mine  and  I'll  take  her!"  he  cried  at  last. 
"Let  the  little,  scheming,  oily,  cunning  scoundrel  die 
to-night  by  his  own  law  of  self-interest  —  I've  done 
my  part." 

Again  the  music  swept  over  the  white  foaming  waters. 
His  heart  was  suddenly  flooded  with  memories  of  his 
boyhood,  its  dreams  of  heroic  deeds;  his  mother's 
serene  face;  his  father's  high  sense  of  honour;  and  the 
traditions  of  his  boyhood  that  make  character  noble 
and  worth  while,  traditions  that  created  a  race  of  free- 


346  The  Root  of  Evil 

men  before  a  dollar  became  the  measure  of  American 
manhood. 

"Have  I  done  my  part?"  he  asked  himself,  with  a 
sudden  start.  "If  he  has  his  way  he  will  die.  Peevish, 
fretful,  spoiled  by  the  flattery  of  fools,  he  is  incapable 
of  taking  care  of  himself  under  the  conditions  in  which 
he  finds  himself.  If  I  consent  to  his  death  am  I  not 
guilty  of  murder?  Out  of  the  heart  are  the  issues  of 
life !  Have  I  the  right  to  apply  his  own  law?  Could  I 
save  him  in  spite  of  himself  if  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
do  it?  Pride  and  ceremony,  high  words  and  courtesy 
cut  no  figure  in  this  crucial  question.  Could  I  save  him 
if  I  would?  If  I  can,  and  don't,  I'm  a  murderer." 

He  turned  quickly  and  retraced  his  steps.  Bivens 
was  crouching  on  his  knees  with  his  back  to  the  fierce, 
icy  wind,  feebly  striking  his  hands  together. 

"Are  you  going  to  fight  your  way  with  me  back  to 
that  yacht,  Cal?"  he  asked  sternly. 

"I  am  not,"  was  the  short  answer.  "I  am  going 
to  walk  the  marsh  till  four  o'clock." 

"You  haven't  the  strength.  You  can't  walk  fast 
enough  to  keep  from  freezing.  You'll  have  to  keep 
it  up  eight  hours.  You're  cold  and  wet  and  exhausted. 
It's  certain  death  if  you  stay.  That  water  is  rising  fast. 
In  ten  minutes  more  it  will  be  dangerous  to  try  it. 
Will  you  come  with  me?" 

"I've  told  you  I'll  take  my  chances  here  and  I  want 
you- 

He  never  finished  the  sentence.  Stuart  suddenly 
gripped  his  throat,  threw  him  flat  on  his  back,  and  while 
he  kicked  and  squirmed  and  swore,  drew  a  cord  from 
his  pocket  and  tied  his  hands  and  feet  securely. 

Paying  no  further  attention  to  his  groans  and  curses, 
he  threw  his  little,  helpless  form  across  his  shoulders, 
plunged  into  the  water  and  began  his  struggle  to  reach 


The  Tempter's  Voice  347 

the  yacht.  It  was  a  difficult  and  dangerous  task. 
The  weight  of  Bivens's  inert  form  drove  his  boots  deep 
into  the  mud,  and  the  wind's  gusts  of  increasing  fury 
threatened  at  almost  every  step  to  hurl  them  down. 
Again  and  again  the  waves  broke  on  his  face  and  sub 
merged  them  both.  Bivens  had  ceased  to  move  or 
make  a  sound.  Stuart  couldn't  tell  whether  he  had 
been  strangled  by  the  freezing  water  or  choked  into 
silence  by  his  helpless  rage. 

At  last  he  struggled  up  the  gangway,  tore  the  cabin 
door  open,  staggered  down  the  steps  into  the  warm, 
bright  saloon,  and  fell  in  a  faint  at  Nan's  feet. 

The  doctor  came  in  answer  to  her  scream  and  lifted 
Bivens  to  his  stateroom,  while  Nan  bent  low  over  the 
prostrate  form,  holding  his  hand  to  her  breast  in  a  close, 
agonizing  clasp,  while  she  whispered : 

"Jim,  speak  to  me!  You  can't  die  yet,  we  haven't 
lived!" 

He  sighed  and  gasped: 

"Is  he  alive?" 

"Yes,  in  his  stateroom  there,  cursing  you  with  every 
breath." 

The  young  lawyer  closed  his  eyes,  blinded  with  tears, 
murmuring  over  and  over  again : 

"Thank  God!  — Thank  God!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    MOCKERY    OF    THE    SUN 

Stuart  refused  to  talk  to  Nan,  went  abruptly  to  his 
stateroom,  and  spent  a  night  of  feverish  dreams.  His 
exhaustion  was  so  acute,  restful  sleep  was  impossible. 
Through  the  night  his  mind  went  over  and  over  the 
horror  of  the  moment  on  that  marsh  when  he  had  looked 
into  the  depths  of  his  own  soul  and  seen  the  flames  of 
hell. 

Between  the  times  of  dozing  unconsciousness,  which 
came  at  intervals,  he  wondered  what  had  become  of 
the  two  men  in  that  disabled  tender.  He  waited  with 
dread  the  revelation  the  dawn  would  bring.  He  rose 
with  the  sun  and  looked  out  of  his  stateroom  window. 
The  bay  was  a  solid  sheet  of  glistening  ice.  The  sun 
was  shining  from  a  cloudless  sky  and  the  great  white 
field  sparkled  and  flashed  like  a  sea  of  diamonds. 

What  a  mockery  that  sunshine!  Somewhere  out  on 
one  of  those  lonely  marshes  it  was  shining  perhaps  on 
the  stark  bodies  of  the  two  men  who  were  eating  and 
drinking  and  laughing  the  day  before.  What  did 
Nature  care  for  man's  joys  or  sorrows,  hopes  or  fears? 
Beneath  that  treacherous  ice  the  tide  was  ebbing  and 
flowing  to  the  throb  of  her  even,  pulsing  heart.  To 
morrow  the  south  wind  would  come  and  sweep  it  all 
into  the  sea  again. 

He  wondered  dimly  if  the  God,  from  whose  hands 
this  planet  and  all  the  shining  worlds  in  space  had 
fallen,  knew  or  cared?  And  then  a  flood  of  gratitude 

343 


The  Mockery  of  the  Sun          ,     349 

filled  his  soul  at  the  thought  of  his  deliverance  from  the 
shadow  of  crime.  Instinctively  his  eyes  closed  and 
his  lips  moved  in  prayer: 

"  Thank  God,  for  the  sunlight  that  shines  in  my  soul 
this  morning  and  for  the  life  that  is  still  clean;  help 
me  to  keep  it  so!" 

Nothing  now  could  disturb  the  serenity  of  his  temper. 
He  dressed  hurriedly,  went  into  the  galley,  made  a  fire 
and  called  Nan. 

He  rapped  gently  on  the  panelled  partition  which 
separated  their  staterooms.  He  could  hear  her  low, 
softly  spoken  answer  as  if  there  were  nothing  between 
them. 

"Yes,  Jim,  what  is  it?     Are  you  ill?" 

"No,  hungry.  You  will  have  to  help  me  get  some 
breakfast." 

"The  cook  hasn't  come?"  she  asked  in  surprise. 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  and  his  voice 
sounded  queer  when  he  quietly  answered: 

"No." 

She  felt  the  shock  of  the  thought  back  of  his  answer 
and  he  heard  her  spring  out  of  bed  and  begin  to  dress 
hurriedly. 

In  ten  minutes  she  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  galley, 
her  hair  hanging  in  glorious  confusion  about  her  face 
and  the  dark  eyes  sparkling  with  excitement. 

"What  on  earth  does  it  mean,  Jim?"  she  asked 
breathlessly.  "Cal  could  tell  me  nothing  last  night 
except  that  he  had  gotten  wet  and  chilled  and  you  had 
carried  him  on  board  against  his  protest.  When  the 
doctor  put  him  to  sleep  with  a  lot  of  whiskey  he  was 
muttering  incoherently  about  a  quarrel  he  had  with 
you.  I  thought  you  sent  both  tenders  to  the  shore  for 
mail  and  provisions.  Why  hasn't  the  cook  re 
turned?" 


350  The  Root  of  Evil 

"He  may  never  come,  Nan." 

"  Why  —  Jim!"  she  gasped. 

"They  started  to  tow  us  in,  the  engine  broke  down. 
I  think  the  carbureter  probably  froze  and  they  were 
driven  before  the  wind,  helpless.  There's  a  chance 
in  a  thousand  that  they  reached  an  oyster  shanty 
and  found  shelter.  We'll  hope  for  the  best.  In  the 
meantime  you  and  I  will  have  to  learn  to  cook  again, 
for  a  few  days." 

"A  few  days! "  Nan  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  The  bay  is  frozen.  Our  old  guide  is  a  good 
cook,  but  he's  safe  in  harbor  ashore.  He  had  too  much 
sense  to  venture  out  last  night.  He  can't  get  here  now 
until  the  ice  breaks  up." 

Nan  accepted  the  situation  with  girlish  enthusiasm, 
became  Stuart's  assistant  and  did  her  work  with  a 
smile.  It  was  a  picnic.  She  laughed  at  the  comical 
picture  his  tall  figure  made  in  a  cook's  apron  and  he 
made  her  wear  a  waitress'  cap  which  he  improvised 
from  a  Japanese  paper  napkin. 

The  doctor  pronounced  the  meals  better  than  he 
had  tasted  on  the  trip.  Bivens  was  still  in  an  ugly 
mood  and  refused  to  leave  his  stateroom  or  allow  any 
one  but  the  doctor  to  enter.  He  was  suffering  intense 
pain  'from  his  frost-bitten  fingers  and  toes  and  ears, 
and  still  cherished  his  grudge  against  Stuart.  He 
refused  to  believe  there  was  the  slightest  necessity  for 
such  high-handed  measures  as  he  had  dared  to  use. 
He  had  carefully  concealed  from  both  the  doctor  and 
Nan  just  what  had  occurred  between  them  on  the  trip 
that  day. 

On  the  second  morning  after  the  freeze  a  light  dawned 
on  the  little  man's  sulking  spirits.  During  the  night 
the  ice  softened  and  a  strong  southerly  breeze  had  swept 
every  piece  of  it  to  sea. 


The  Mockery  of  the  Sun  351 

Again  the  bay  was  a  blue,  shimmering  mirror,  re 
flecting  the  white  flying  clouds,  and  the  marshes  rang 
with  the  resounding  cries  of  chattering  wild  fowl. 

It  was  just  nine  o'clock,  and  Nan  was  busy  humming 
a  song  and  setting  the  table  for  breakfast,  when  Stuart 
heard  the  distant  drum -beat  of  a  tender's  engine. 
The  guide  was  returning  from  the  shore,  or  the  lost 
tender  had  come.  If  it  were  the  guide  he  would  pro 
bably  bring  news  of  the  other  men.  His  course 
lay  over  their  trail.  He  threw  off  his  cook's  apron,  put 
on  his  coat,  sprang  out  of  the  galley,  and  called  below: 

"A  tender  is  coming,  Nan.  Don't  come  on  deck 
until  I  tell  you." 

The  smile  died  from  her  beautiful  face  as  she  answered 
slowly: 

"All  right,  Jim." 

In  a  moment  he  came  back  down  the  companion-way 
and  spoke  in  quiet  tones: 

"It's  just  as  I  expected.  They  are  both  dead. 
The  guide  found  them  on  the  marsh  over  there,  frozen." 

"The  marsh  you  and  Cal  were  on?"  she  asked  breath 
lessly. 

"Yes.  Both  of  them  were  kneeling.  They  died 
with  their  hands  clasped  in  prayer." 

"And  you  saved  Cal  from  that?"  she  gasped,  and 
turning,  fled  into  her  stateroom. 

He  went  in  to  change  his  clothes  and  help  lift  the 
bodies  on  deck.  Through  the  panelled  wall  he  heard 
Nan  softly  sobbing. 

Bivens  refused  at  first  to  believe  the  doctor's  startling 
announcement.  He  hurriedly  dressed,  came  on  deck, 
and  for  five  minutes  stood  staring  into  the  white,  dead 
faces. 

Without  a  word  he  went  below  and  asked  the  doctor 
to  call  Stuart. 


352  The  Root  of  Evil 

When  his  old  friend  entered,  he  took  his  hand  quietly 
and  for  once  in  his  life  the  little,  black,  piercing  eyes 
were  swimming  in  tears  as  he  spoke. 

"  You're  a  great  man,  Jim,  and  what's  bigger,  you're 
a  good  one.  If  God  will  forgive  me  for  the  foolish  things 
I  said  and  did  yesterday,  I'll  try  to  make  it  up  to  you. 
old  boy.  Is  it  all  right?" 

Stuart's  answer  was  a  nod,  a  smile  and  a  pressure 
of  the  hand. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   TRUMP  CARD 

The  stirring  scenes  of  Virginia  brought  Stuart  more 
and  more  into  intimate  personal  relations  with  Bivens 
and  he  had  taken  advantage  of  the  fact  to  draw  away 
from  his  wife.  The  fierce  temptation  through  which  he 
had  fought  had  left  its  scar,  sobered  his  imagination,  and 
brought  him  up  sharply  against  the  realization  of  danger. 
He  had  ceased  to  see  Nan  alone.  Bivens's  increasing 
devotion  had  made  this  easy  and  on  Harriet's  return 
from  Europe  with  an  engagement  as  understudy  in  grand 
opera  his  life  settled  down  once  more  to  the  steady  de 
velopment  of  his  ideal  of  service  to  the  common  people. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  without  bringing  to  the  young 
lawyer  some  reminder  of  Bivens's  friendship.  Two  great 
lawsuits  involving  the  principles  on  which  the  structure 
of  the  modern  business  world  rested  were  begun  in  the 
Federal  courts.  At  the  financier's  secret  suggestion  the 
more  important  of  these  was  placed  in  Stuart's  hands. 
Bivens  hoped  to  beat  the  Government  in  this  suit,  but 
in  case  the  people  should  win  he  wanted  the  personal 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  had  helped  to  make  the 
fame  of  his  best  friend. 

Stuart  could  scarcely  credit  his  ears  when  Bivens 
said  to  him  with  a  chuckle  : 

"  How's  your  big  suit  to  dissolve  the  American  Chem 
ical  Company  coming  on,  Jim?" 

"We're  going  to  win,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt!" 
was  the  enthusiastic  reply. 

353 


354  The  Root  of  Evil 

"If  you  do,  I  want  you  to  know,  old  boy,  that  I 
threw  that  job  into  your  hands. " 

"What?" 

"I  caused  the  proper  man  to  suggest  your  name  at 
the  right  moment,  to  the  right  people. " 

"The  American  Chemical  Company  is  your  original 
pet,  and  you  put  me  up  against  it?  " 

Stuart  paused  and  looked  at  Bivens  with  a  scowl. 

"Look  here,  Cal,"  he  went  on  angrily,  "you  didn't 
think  that  you  could  use  our  friendship  to  weaken  this 
suit  at  a  critical  moment,  did  you?" 

"Jim,"  the  little  man  cried,  in  distress,  "you  can't 
believe  that  I  thought  you  were  that  sort  of  a  dog,  after 
all  that  has  passed  between  us?" 

"It  does  seem  incredible, "  Stuart  agreed. 

"No,  my  boy,"  Bivens  went  on,  after  a  pause,"! 
don't  have  to  do  dirty  little  things  like  that.  These 
big  issues  have  been  raised.  They  are  bound  to  come 
to  trial  before  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States 
—  our  one  great  tribunal  beyond  reproach  or  suspicion. 
They  will  be  decided  on  their  merits.  The  issues  in 
volved  are  too  big  and  far-reaching  for  pettifogging 
methods.  I  suggested  your  name  to  help  you  in  your 
career.  I  couldn't  do  it  any  other  way.  The  stock 
I  now  own  in  the  American  Chemical  Company  is  a 
mere  trifle.  I'll  have  a  good  joke  on  our  crowd  if 
you  do  win.  I'll  celebrate  with  a  state  dinner  and  make 
them  all  drink  to  your  health.  They'll  pull  ugly  faces 
but  they'll  do  it  and  fall  over  one  another  to  do  you 
honour  besides. " 

Stuart  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"What  a  funny  mixture  of  the  devil  and  the  human 
you  are,  after  all,  Cal!  The  more  I  see  of  you,  the  less 
I  know  you.  How  any  man  can  make  a  colossal  fortune 
as  you  have,  and  yet  do  such  things  as  you've  done  for 


A  Trump  Card  355 

me,  is  incredible.  In  business  you  are  an  oppressor 
of  the  weak,  cruel  and  unjust,  and  yet  you  are  a  good 
husband,  a  loyal  friend,  and  a  member  of  the  church. 
It  beats  the  devil!" 

Bivens  smiled  cynically. 

"  No  thing  mysterious  about  it.  I  came  into  a  world 
where  I  found  robbery  and  murder  the  foundation  of 
our  commercial  system.  I  grappled  with  my  enemies, 
learned  the  rules  of  the  game  and  beat  them  at  their 
own  sport.  I'm  simply  the  product  of  the  age  —  no 
better,  no  worse  than  the  principles  of  modern  society 
by  which  I  live. " 

"And  you  expect  to  win  in  the  end?" 

"I  have  won!" 

The  young  lawyer  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"  There's  a  text  our  old  preacher  at  home  used  to 
ring  the  changes  on  that's  been  burning  into  my  life  of 
late: 

'  SIN  WHEN  IT  IS  FULL  GROWN 
BRINGETH      FORTH      DEATH.' 

"Whatever  sin  may  be,  theologically,  it  is  certainly 
the  violation  of  law.  Before  any  man  can,  in  the  end, 
reap  good  from  the  seeds  of  evil,  the  tides  must  forget 
to  come  in,  gr^ss  and  bud  fail  to  come  at  the  call  of 
spring,  and  every  law  of  the  universe  be  reversed; 
because  it  is  the  Law  —  the  law  of  Science,  Philosophy, 
Love,  Life,  Nature,  God." 

"I'm  afraid  you're  getting  beyond  my  depth  now," 
Bivens  answered,  dryly.  "I'm  not  a  philosopher  or 
a  theologian,  only  a  man  of  business  who  takes  the  world 
as  he  finds  it  and  tries  to  beat  it  and  win  out  in  the 
scuffle.  I  suggested  your  name  in  this  suit,  Jim,  be 
cause  I  like  you  and  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for 
you,  if  you'd  let  me." 


356  The  Root  of  Evil 

As  the  two  men  drew  thus  closer  and  closer  together, 
Stuart's  bearing  toward  Nan  became  guarded,  and  at 
last  their  relations  strained. 

She  met  his  new  attitude  with  deep  resentment  and 
growing  wonder.  Her  firm  conviction  was  that  he  had 
become  interested  in  another  woman.  She  pretended 
to  take  no  notice  of  the  change  in  his  manner  or  to 
observe  the  fact  that  they  were  never  alone  together. 
With  infinite  patience  she  studied  his  whims  and 
watched  for  the  rival  she  was  sure  had  crossed  his  life. 
From  the  first  she  had  suspected  Harriet  Woodman,  and 
had  inevitably  linked  her  coming  with  Stuart's  change 
of  feeling.  He  had  never  referred  to  the  Woodmans  once 
since  the  day  of  the  financier's  collapse.  This  was, 
of  course,  natural,  and  she  grew  each  day  more  certain 
that  the  influence  of  this  quiet  demure  girl  was  the  se 
cret  of  the  hostile  influence  that  had  come  between 
them. 

With  the  liberal  use  of  money  she  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  a  member  of  the  chorus  of  the  grand  opera 
company  who  agreed  to  report  to  her  every  movement 
in  Harriet's  life. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  season  the  usual  quarrelling 
of  the  stars  gave  to  the  young  singer  the  opportunity 
of  her  life,  and  Nan's  friend  reported  '.hat  the  little 
golden-haired  understudy  was  sudd0  (y  booked  to  sing 
the  leading  role  in  Faust  on  account  of  the  illness  of 
the  star. 

"Of  course,  the  cat's  not  ill  at  all,"  the  chorus  lady 
volunteered  to  inform  Nan  over  the  telephone.  "She's 
only  pretending,  to  bring  the  manager  to  his  knees. 
He's  called  her  bluff  and  the  little  one's  going  on  in  her 
part,  and  she's  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  delight. " 

"Will  she  succeed?"  Nan  broke  in,  eagerly. 

"What?  as  Marguerite  in  Faust,  that  poor  little  kid? 


A  Trump  Card  357 

She  will  —  nit!  I'm  sorry  for  her.  She'll  need  a  friend 
to  take  her  home  to-night.  It's  a  dog  mean  trick  of 
the  manager  to  make  a  monkey  of  her.  She's  a  good 
little  thing;  everybody  likes  her. " 

"All  right,  that  will  do,  thank  you,"  Nan  interrupted 
shortly,  as  she  hung  up  the  receiver. 

She  was  not  surprised  when  Stuart  accepted  her  in 
vitation  to  spend  the  evening  in  her  box  at  the  opera  — 
the  first  time  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  alone  with 
her  since  their  return  from  the  cruise. 

"Yes,  Nan,"  he  answered  quickly,  "I'll  go  with 
pleasure.  A  little  friend  of  mine  is  to  sing  a  great  role 
to-night.  I'm  so  glad  you're  going.  I  want  you  to 
hear  her  and  help  me  applaud." 

Now  she  knew  it!  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
began  to  realize  what  Stuart  meant  to  her;  what  his 
refusal  to  love  another  woman  had  meant.  For  the 
first  time  she  knew  that  she  had  built  the  foundations 
of  her  happiness  on  the  certainty  that  he  could  never 
love  another  woman  and  that  he  would  die  her  devoted, 
if  unsatisfied,  slave. 

For  the  first  time  she  felt  the  tigress  instinct  to  defend 
what  she  held  to  be  her  own,  right  or  wrong.  She 
could  tear  this  woman  into  pieces  —  the  little  poverty- 
stricken  nobody,  an  understudy  in  an  opera  troupe! 
And  yet  if  she  should  succeed  to-night  —  the  thought 
was  suffocating  —  to-morrow  her  name  would  be  on 
the  lips  of  thousands  and  a  new  star  would  be  shining 
in  the  musical  world. 

Stuart  took  Harriet  to  the  stage  door  on  his  way  for 
Nan.  As  the  cab  wheeled  up  Broadway  he  was  in  a 
fever  of  excitement  over  the  outcome  of  the  night's 
work. 

"It's  horribly  unfair,  little  pal,   for  them  to   thrust 


358  The  Root  of  Evil 

you   into   such    a    position    with  only   a    few  hours' 
rehearsal. " 

"I'm  only  too  thankful  for  the  chance,  Jim/'  she 
answered  serenely. 

"Let  me  see  if  your  hand  is  trembling." 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  held  it  a  moment,  look 
ing  tenderly  into  her  expressive  eyes. 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it  in  my  life ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"You're  as  cool  and  unconcerned  as  if  you  were  going 
to  hear  me  sing  instead  of  making  your  first  appearance 
in  one  of  the  great  roles  of  an  immortal  opera.  You 
haven't  the  slightest  fear  of  failure?" 

She  smiled  with  joyous  eagerness  as  she  replied : 

"I  know  that  I  can  sing  to-night,  I  may  not  make  a 
deep  impression  or  create  the  slightest  excitement,  but 
I  can't  fail." 

"If  you  should,  dearie, "  he  said,  with  deep  tenderness, 
"promise  me  not  to  take  it  to  heart.  Such  a  trial  is 
not  fair  to  you.  Even  the  greatest  star  could  not  do 
her  best  under  such  conditions. " 

"No,  they  couldn't  be  induced  to  sing  under  such 
conditions.  But  I  am  divinely  happy  over  it.  I 
promise  you  that  not  a  tear  shall  stain  my  face  if  I 
fail.  I  shall  only  laugh  and  try  again." 

Her  faith  was  so  serene,  Stuart  was  reassured. 

At  the  stage  door  he  held  her  hand  in  parting  and 
whispered: 

"My  soul  and  body  will  be  yours  to-night,  dearie, 
remember  that!  I've  permission  from  the  manager  to 
meet  you  behind  the  scenes  after  the  last  curtain.  Be 
sure  to  wait  a  moment  before  you  go  to  your  dressing 
room. " 

"No,  I'll  see  you  in  my  room.  I  shall  be  so  proud 
of  it  —  the  star's  room  for  one  night  at  least !  The 
maid  will  show  you  the  way. " 


A  Trump  Card  359 

"I  will  be  in  the  Bivens's  box,  the  second  from  the 
stage  on  the  right.  Don't  forget  to  glance  that  way, 
now  and  then." 

A  look  of  pain  clouded  the  fair  face,  but  he  could  not 
see  it  in  the  shadows,  and  with  a  last  warm  pressure  of 
her  hand  he  was  gone. 

Harriet  found  to  her  joyous  surprise  her  dressing  room 
transformed  into  a  bower  of  roses.  A  great  bouquet 
of  three  dozen  American  beauties  on  her  table  bore  her 
father's  name  and  all  the  rest  were  from  Stuart.  She 
had  a  vague  surmise  that  he  paid  for  her  father's,  too. 
Every  tint  of  rose  that  blooms  he  had  sent,  hiring  an 
artist  to  arrange  them  so  that  their  colouring  made  a 
veritable  song  of  joy  as  she  entered.  There  wras  no 
card  to  indicate  who  had  sent  these  wonderful  flowers, 
but  she  knew.  There  was  only  one  man  on  earth  who 
loved  her  well  enough.  Her  heart  gave  a  throb  of  daring 
joy  at  the  thought!  Surely  such  a  token  meant  more 
than  merely  the  big  brotherly  tenderness  which  he  as 
sumed  so  naturally.  And  then  her  heart  sank  with  the 
certainty  that  he  didn't  mean  it  in  the  deep  sense  she 
wished.  He  called  her  'dear/  and  'dearie,'  and  'little 
pal'  too  glibly.  He  had  always  told  her  that  he  loved 
her  too  easily.  What  she  wished  was  the  speech  that 
stammered  and  halted  and  uttered  itself  in  broken, 
half-articulate  syllables  because  there  were  no  words  in 
the  human  language  to  express  its  meaning. 

She  buried  her  golden  head  in  a  huge  bunch  of  white 
roses  the  artist  had  placed  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
drinking  their  perfume  for  a  moment,  closing  her  eyes 
and  breathing  deeply. 

"I  wonder  if  he  does  think  of  me  still  as  a  child?" 
she  mused.  "I  wonder  if  he  never  suspects  the  storm 
within?  Well- 

She  smiled  triumphantly. 


360  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I'll  tell  him  something  to-night  in  my  song!" 

Nan  was  not  in  an  amiable  mood  when  Stuart  led 
her  to  the  box  in  the  millionaire's  playhouse  which  New 
York  society  built  to  exhibit  its  gowns,  jewellery  and 
beautiful  women. 

He  had  insisted  on  coming  early. 

Nan  had  always  entered  late  and  no  woman  in 
the  magic  circle  of  gilded  splendour  had  ever  attracted 
more  attention  or  received  it  with  more  queenly  in 
difference.  It  was  acknowledged  on  every  hand  that 
she  was  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  New  York's  exclu 
sive  set. 

Northern  men  had  exhausted  their  vocabulary  of  flat 
tery  in  paying  homage  to  the  perfection  of  her  stately 
Southern  type.  Those  big  Northern  business  fellows 
had  often  shown  a  preference  for  Southern  women. 
Many  of  them  had  married  poor  girls  of  the  South  and 
they  had  become  the  leaders  of  their  set.  Nan's  op 
portunity  for  intrigue  and  flirtation  had  been  bound 
less,  but  so  far  not  a  whisper  about  her  had  ever  found 
its  way  into  the  gossip  of  the  scandalmongers  of  high 
life. 

To-night  she  was  bent  on  creating  a  mild  sensation 
by  entering  late  and  placing  Stuart  in  a  position  so 
conspicuous,  the  presence  of  her  tall  distinguished 
escort  would  at  once  command  attention,  and  provoke 
inquiry.  He  had  quite  innocently  frustrated  this  little 
plan  by  insisting  on  the  unusual  and  vulgar  procedure 
of  entering  the  box  in  time  to  hear  the  opera. 

"But  Jim,"  Nan  protested  bitterly,  "it's  so  cheap 
and  amateurish." 

"Come  Nan,"  he  answered,  "you're  too  beautiful, 
too  rich,  too  powerful,  and  too  much  envied  to  be  afraid 
of  the  opinion  of  small  folks.  It's  the  privilege  of  the  grea  t 
to  do  as  they  please.  Only  the  little  people  must  dc 


A  Trump  Card  361 

as  others.  As  a  special  favour  I  ask  you  to  be  there 
at  the  rise  of  the  curtain.  I  must  see  my  little  friend's 
entrance  and  hear  the  first  note  she  sings. " 

She  had  yielded  gracefully  on  the  outside.  Inwardly 
she  was  boiling  with  rage. 

They  were  the  first  to  enter  a  box.  Stuart  eagerly 
scanned  his  programme.  The  manager  had  inserted  a 
slip  of  paper  on  which  he  said: 

"  Owing  to  the  sudden  illness  of  the  prima  donna, 
the  audience  will  have  the  unexpected  privilege  this 
evening  of  hearing  an  accomplished  American  girl,  a 
native  of  New  York  City,  sing  for  the  first  time  in 
Grand  Opera.  Miss  Harriet  Woodman  will  appear  in 
the  role  of  Marguerite. " 

The  real  audience  had  gathered  unusually  early  to 
hear  the  great  European  prima  donna.  Every  seat 
in  the  orchestra  and  balconies  was  packed  before  the 
rise  of  the  curtain. 

Nan  had  placed  Stuart  in  front  of  her  on  purpose  to 
watch  closely  his  expression. 

As  the  moment  for  Harriet's  appearance  drew  near, 
his  nervous  tension  became  a  positive  agony.  Yet  he 
distinctly  felt  from  the  subtle  impression,  which  the 
intelligent  single  mind  can  always  receive  from  the 
collective  mind  of  a  crowd,  that  the  people  were  in  a 
friendly  mood  of  expectancy.  The  fact  that  she  was 
an  American  girl  and  from  New  York  was  greatly  in  her 
favour. 

The  audience  greeted  her  appearance  with  a  burst  of 
applause  and  waited  for  the  first  note  of  her  opening  song. 

Stuart  was  charmed  with  the  effect  of  her  personality 
in  the  character,  before  she  moved.  The  long,  beauti 
ful  golden  hair,  the  innocent  young  face  and  her  simple 
girlish  costume  made  an  instantaneous  impression  in 
her  favour. 


362  The  Root  of  Evil 

With  the  first  sweet  note  from  her  throat  every  fear 
vanished.  She  sang  simply,  quietly,  exquisitely,  without 
effort,  as  a  bird  sings  because  the  song  bubbles  from 
within. 

A  ripple  of  surprised  comment  swept  the  audience 
and  burst  into  vigorous  applause  at  the  close  of  her 
song. 

She  looked  into  Stuart's  face  and  smiled  sweetly. 

"Isn't  she  glorious!"  he  cried,  turning  his  flushed  face 
toward  Nan. 

"Fine, "  was  the  quiet  answer,  "but  please,  Jim,  don't 
climb  over  the  rail  and  try  to  get  on  the  stage. "  • 

Stuart  settled  back  in  his  seat  with  a  resolution  to 
be  more  careful.  But  in  a  few  moments  his  resolution 
was  forgotten.  From  start  to  finish  Harriet  received 
a  continuous  ovation.  In  the  great  songs  of  the  last 
act  her  voice  swelled  into  a  climax  of  thrilling  spiritual 
power.  The  audience  rose  in  their  seats  and  greeted 
her  with  such  a  tribute  of  enthusiasm  New  York  had 
rarely  seen.  Wave  after  wave  of  applause  swept  the 
house.  Her  fellow-singers  were  compelled  to  lead  her 
out  a  half-dozen  times  before  the  tumult  ceased. 

The  manager,  in  ecstasies,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  kisses 
the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

When  Stuart  had  fought  his  way  through  the  crowd 
and  reached  the  stage,  he  found  her  alone  with  her  father 
in  her  room.  Her  head  was  resting  on  his  breast  and 
he  was  stroking  the  fair  young  forehead  with  tender 
caressing  touch.  His  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  and  his 
voice  could  find  no  words. 

He  turned  away  from  the  scene  and  left  them  alone 
for  a  few  moments. 

He  found  Nan  and  asked  her  to  wait  for  him  at  the 
stage  door  in  her  automobile  until  he  could  give  Harriet 
his  congratulations. 


A  Trump  Card  363 

She  consented  with  a  frown,  and  begged  him  to  hurry. 

He  heard  the  muffled  throb  of  the  big  limousine  draw 
up  at  the  stage  door  as  he  made  his  way  to  Harriet's 
room.  Her  father  was  still  there  and  a  crowd  of 
musicians,  singers,  and  critics  were  waiting  in  a  group 
outside  to  offer  their  congratulations. 

She  was  holding  them  back  until  his  arrival. 

When  Stuart  entered  she  dropped  her  father's  hand, 
started  toward  him  with  her  lips  parted  in  a  joyous 
smile  and  extended  both  hands. 

Instead  of  taking  them  he  slipped  his  arm  about  her 
slender  waist,  drew  her  quickly  to  his  heart  and  kissed 
her.  The  girl's  extended  white  arms  by  an  instinctive 
impulse  found  their  way  around  his  neck,  and  her  head 
sank  on  his  breast. 

"My  glorious  little  pal!"  he  whispered,  his  voice 
choking  with  emotion.  "I'm  the  proudest  man  in  the 
world  to-night." 

"It's  all  your  work  Jim,"  she  said  simply.  "You 
suggested  and  willed  it  and  I've  made  good  under  your 
inspiration.  I'd  rather  see  the  happiness  on  your  face 
and  hear  your  words  of  approval  than  all  the  applause 
of  that  crowd. " 

"And  you  are  perfectly  happy?"  he  asked  with  en 
thusiasm. 

"Certainly  not!"  she  cried,  emphatically.  "No  real 
woman  ever  does  this  for  the  thing  itself.  It's  done 
only  to  please  her  hero  that  is,  or  is  to  be.  I  shall  never 
be  perfectly  happy  until  I've  a  little  nest  of  my  own  and 
the  man  I  love  is  always  by  my  side. " 

"He'll  be  a  lucky  man,  little  girl.  And  he  must  be 
a  good  one  to  get  my  consent.  You  can't  marry  with 
out  it  you  know." 

"I  shall  not!"  she  answered  with  a  laugh. 

When   Harriet   drew   herself   quietly   from    Stuart's 


364  The  Root  of  Evil 

arms  he  turned  and  saw  Nan  standing  in  the  doorway, 
with  a  curious  smile  on  her  flushed  face. 

"May  I,  too,  offer  my  congratulations,  Miss  Wood 
man?  "  she  asked.  "I  hope  you  have  forgotten  the  lack 
of  appreciation  you  met  at  the  hands  of  my  crowd  of 
thoughtless  banqueters  in  the  ovation  you  have  had  this 
evening." 

Harriet's  little  figure  suddenly  stiffened  at  the  sight 
of  Nan,  but  at  the  sound  of  her  friendly  voice,  relaxed, 
and  moved  to  meet  the  extended  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Bivens, "  she  replied  cordially. 
"I  couldn't  hold  a  grudge  against  any  one  in  that 
audience  to-night." 

And  then  Stuart  did  something  that  sent  a  shock 
through  every  fibre  of  Nan's  being. 

As  easily  and  naturally  as  a  big  brother,  he  slipped 
one  of  his  long  arms  around  Harriet  and  looked  down 
with  frank  admiration  into  her  eyes. 

"You  see,  Nan,  she's  mine.  I  raised  her  f*om  a 
wee  little  mite.  And  this  was  such  a  cruel  and  danger 
ous  experiment  —  she  had  no  chance.  It  was  impossible 
—  but,  God  bless  her,  she  did  it ! " 

Nan  apologized  for  hurrying  away  and  Stuart  was 
compelled  to  follow. 

As  he  settled  back  among  the  soft  cushions  of  the  car 
by  her  side  and  the  big  machine  glided  swiftly  up 
Broadway  toward  the  Bivens  palace,  his  enthusiasm 
burst  out  anew: 

"Honestly,  Nan,  don't  you  think  her  a  wonderful 
little  girl?  And  just  to  think  she's  my  kid " 

"Rather  a  remarkably  developed  kid,  Jim!"  was  the 
laughing  answer.  "She's  splendid.  The  depth  and 
range,  power  and  sweetness  of  her  voice  are  marvellous. 
Her  fame  will  fill  the  world. " 

"Then  you  can't  wonder  that  I'm  proud  of  her." 


A  Trump  Card  365 

"No,"  she  answered,  dreamily.  She  could  afford 
to  be  generous.  Warned  in  time  and  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  instantly  to  act  on  a  plan  that  had  been 
vaguely  forming  and  tempting  her  for  the  past  months. 
It  was  her  trump  card;  she  had  hesitated  to  play  it, 
but  she  would  do  it  now  without  delay. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THROUGH  PURPLE  CURTAINS 

When  Nan  made  up  her  mind,  she  acted  with  light 
ning  rapidity.  She  would  force  Stuart  to  an  avowal 
of  love  that  would  fix  their  relation  beyond  disturbance 
by  the  little  singer.  She  had  too  fine  a  sense  of  values 
to  permit  herself  to  become  entangled  in  an  intrigue. 

She  could  wait,  and  gain  in  power  for  the  waiting. 
Her  physician  had  told  her  that  Bivens's  days  were 
numbered.  Stuart  had  waited  twelve  years  in  silence; 
he  could  wait  the  few  months  more  of  her  husband's 
flickering  life. 

But  on  one  thing  she  was  determined.  Now  that 
another  woman  had  appeared  on  the  scene  she  would 
not  live  in  suspense,  she  must  know  that  he  loved  her 
still,  loved  her  passionately,  madly  as  she  believed  he 
did.  But  he  must  say  it.  She  must  hear  his  voice 
quiver  with  its  old  fiery  intensity.  She  wished  this 
as  she  had  never  longed  for  anything  on  earth, 
and  for  twelve  years  she  had  lived  in  a  magic  world 
where  she  had  only  to  breathe  a  desire  to  have  it  ful 
filled. 

Stuart  had'  baffled  and  eluded  her  on  every  point 
when  she  had  thought  he  was  about  to  betray  his  passion. 
Here  was  something  mere  money  had  no  power  to 
command.  Well,  she  had  other  powers.  She  would 
use  them  to  the  limit.  She  would  no  longer  risk  the 
danger  of  delay. 

She  had  no  difficulty  in  persuading  Bivens  to  urge 

366 


Through  Purple  Curtains  367 

Stuart  to  visit  their  country  estate  in  the  mountains 
of  North  Carolina.  The  doctor  had  ordered  him  there 
to  live  in  the  open  air. 

The  young  lawyer  refused  to  go  at  first,  but  Bivens 
urged  with  such  pathetic  eagerness  he  was  compelled 
to  accept. 

It  was  a  warm  beautiful  morning  the  last  week  in 
March  when  he  alighted  on  the  platform  of  the  little 
railroad  station  on  the  estate,  and  took  his  seat  beside 
Nan  in  her  big  touring  car.  The  fruit  trees  were  in 
full  bloom,  and  their  perfume  filled  the  air.  The  hum 
of  bees  and  the  song  of  birds  he  had  known  in  his  boy 
hood  thrilled  his  heart.  He  drew  a  deep  breath  of  joy, 
and  without  a  struggle  resigned  himself  to  the  charm  of 
it  all. 

"It's  glorious,  Nan!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Your  coming  makes  it  perfect,  Jim,"  she  answered, 
tenderly,  and  turning  to  the  chauffeur  said: 

"Drive  for  an  hour  before  going  to  the  house,  Collins. " 

The  chauffeur  tipped  his  cap  and  the  throbbing 
machine  shot  around  a  curve  and  swept  along  the  river's 
edge  down  the  green  carpeted  valley  which  stretches 
out  for  miles  below  the  ramparts  of  the  great  chateau 
on  the  mountain-side  above. 

"There's  the  house,  Jim!"  Nan  cried,  pointing  to  the 
heights  on  the  left. 

Stuart  could  not  suppress  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"Magnificent!"  he  said,  with  enthusiasm. 

As  the  river  made  a  graceful  curve  the  great  building 
swept  into  full  view  —  a  stunning  pile  of  marble  three 
hundred  feet  long,  its  tower  piercing  the  turquoise  sky 
in  solemn  grandeur.  The  stone  parapet,  on  which  its 
front  wall  was  built,  rose  in  massive  strength  a  hundred 
feet  from  the  ledge  in  the  granite  cliff  before  touching 
the  first  line  of  the  white  stones  of  the  house  itself. 


368  The  Root  of  Evil 

At  the  end  a  formal  garden  had  been  built  on  the 
foundations  of  masonry  which  cost  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

"What  a  background  that  row  of  live  oaks  make 
behind  the  garden!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Don't  they?"  she  answered.  "You  would  hardly 
believe  it,  but  we  planted  every  one  of  those  trees. " 

"Nonsense!     They  must  be  two  feet  in  diameter. " 

"More;  not  one  of  them  is  less  than  three.  We 
moved  a  hundred  of  them  from  the  woods,  without 
breaking  the  dirt  from  their  roots  —  built  special 
machinery  to  do  it.  I  think  Cal  is  prouder  of  those 
trees  than  he  is  of  the  house. " 

For  an  hour  the  car  swept  like  a  spirit  over  the  miles 
of  smooth  macadam  private  roads  Bivens  had  built. 
At  each  graceful  turn  his  wonder  increased  at  the  lux 
urious  outlay  of  millions  which  the  little  man  had  spent 
to  gratify  a  whim. 

From  each  hilltop,  as  the  huge  gleaming  castle  came 
into  view  from  a  new  angle,  revealing  its  marvellous 
beauty,  he  thought  with  a  touch  of  pity  of  the  shambling 
figure  of  the  stricken  man  limping  through  its  halls 
helpless,  lonely,  miserable.  What  strange  pranks  Fate 
plays  with  the  mighty  as  well  as  the  lowly!  So  frail 
was  the  broken  body  now  he  did  not  dare  risk  a  cold  by 
taking  a  ride  with  his  wife. 

The  machine  turned  suddenly  up  a  hill  and  glided 
through  two  iron  gates  opening  on  the  lawn  and  the 
great  white  chateau  loomed  before  them  in  a  flash  of 
blinding  beauty.  Stuart  caught  his  breath. 

Turning  to  Nan  he  shook  his  head  slowly: 

'  'Don't  you  like  it?  "  she  laughed. 

"I  was  just  wondering. " 

"At  what?" 
*-•&:'      "Whether  this  is  the  Republic  for  which  our  strug- 


Through  Purple  Curtains  369 

gling  fathers  fought  and  died?  America  you  know,  Nan, 
is  the  tall  rude  youth  who  saw  a  vision,  made  his  way 
into  the  wilderness,  slept  on  the  ground,  fought  with 
hunger  and  wild  beasts  and  grew  strong  by  the  labour 
of  his  right  arm.  It  would  be  a  strange  thing  if  all  he 
has  learned  is  to  crawl  back  to  where  he  started  and 
build  a  castle  exactly  like  the  one  from  which  the  tyrants 
drove  him  in  the  Old  World. " 

"What  a  strange  fellow  you  are,  Jim."  Her  an 
swer  carried  with  it  a  touch  of  resentment.  "This 
house  is  mine,  mine  —  not  America's  —  please  remem 
ber  that.  Let  the  future  American  take  of  himself!" 

" Certainly,  I  understand,"  he  answered  quickly,  as 
the  car  stopped  under  the  vaulted  porte-cochere.  "  You 
wouldn't  be  a  woman  if  you  didn't  feel  that  way.  All 
right;  I'm  in  your  hands.  To  the  devil  with  the  future 
American!" 

"That's  better!"  she  laughed. 

Stuart  shook  hands  with  Bivens  and  was  shocked  to 
find  him  so  weak. 

The  little  man  held  his  hand  with  a  lingering  wistf ulness 
as  he  looked  into  his  friend's  strong  face. 

"You  don't  know  how  rich  you  are,  Jim,"  he  said, 
feebly,  "with  this  hand  that  grips  like  iron.  I'd  give 
millions  to  feel  my  heart  beat  like  yours  to-day. " 

"You'll  get  better  down  here,"  Stuart  answered, 
cheerfully. 

"I'm  trying  it  anyhow,"  he  said  listlessly.  "Make 
yourself  at  home,  old  boy.  This  house  is  my  pride. 
I  want  Nan  to  show  you  every  nook  and  corner  in  it. 
I  wish  I  could  trot  around  with  you,  but  I  can't. " 

"As  soon  as  you've  changed  your  clothes,"  Nan  said, 
familiarly,  "come  down  to  the  library  and  I'll  show  you 
around. " 

Stuart  followed  the  man  assigned  as  his  valet  to  the 


370  The  Root  of  Evil 

electric  elevator  and  in  a  minute  stepped  out  on  the 
fourth  floor.  He  observed  with  a  smile  that  his  room 
number  was  157. 

"The  idea  of  living  in  a  huge  hotel  and  calling  it  a 
home!"  he  mused,  with  grim  humour.  "Room  157; 
great  Scott!" 

His  hostess  showed  him  first  the  library.  The  mag 
nificent  room  contained  more  than  forty  thousand 
volumes,  bound  in  hand-tooled  morocco. 

"The  funny  thing,  of  course,"  Nan  whispered,  "is 
that  Cal  has  never  read  one  of  these  exquisitely  bound 
books." 

"Why  on  earth  did  he  make  this  room  the  most 
stately  and  beautiful  one  in  the  house?  " 

"Maybe  he  didn't!"  she  laughed.  "I'm  going  to 
give  you  a  privilege  no  mere  man  has  ever  enjoyed  in 
this  house  before  —  I  am  going  to  show  you  my  own 
rooms.  Will  you  appreciate  the  honour?  " 

The  man  answered  with  a  bantering  smile. 

"If  I  live  to  tell  the  story!" 

When  the  tour  of  inspection  had  been  completed  she 
led  him  to  her  own  suite,  which  was  located  in  the  south 
western  corner,  overlooking  the  magnificent  formal 
gardens  with  their  artificial  lake,  fountains,  statuary 
and  a  wilderness  of  flowers,  and  farther  on  over  the 
beautiful  valleys  of  the  Swannanoa  and  the  French 
Broad  rivers.  Beyond  the  river  valleys  rose  range  after 
range  of  mountains  until  the  last  dim  peaks  were  lost 
in  the  clouds. 

The  magnificence  of  her  bed-room  was  stunning. 
Stuart  rubbed  his  eyes  in  amazement. 

The  bedstead  seemed  a  thing  of  life  —  so  elaborate 
and  wonderful  was  its  art.  Built  of  massive  ebony  with 
the  most  remarkable  ivory  carvings  set  in  its  gleaming 
black  surface,  artists,  as  many  as  could  touch  the  mate- 


Through  Purple  Curtains  371 

rial,  had  worked  two  years  on  the  carving  alone.  The 
allegorical  pictures  cut  into  the  broad  band  of  ivory 
which  ran  around  the  frame  had  required  the  time  of 
four  art-workmen  for  eighteen  months. 

Stuart  stood  fascinated. 

"You  see  that  magnificent  piece  of  ivory  on  the  head, 
Jim?  "  she  asked,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"The  most  massive  solid  piece  I  ever  saw!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "I  never  dreamed  the  elephant  had  ever  lived 
with  such  a  tusk." 

"We  found  him  at  last!"  Nan  cried,  with  pride.  "It 
took  the  time  of  fourteen  hunters  in  Africa  for  seven 
months. " 

"I  can  easily  believe  it,"  Stuart  answered.  "Lud- 
wig  of  Bavaria  surely  never  dreamed  anything  like 
this." 

"The  walls  you  see  are  panelled  in  Louis  XV  style, 
permitting  the  most  elaborate  carvings  which  I  had 
heavily  guilded  on  backgrounds  of  white  enamel,  but 
the  thing  I  love  best  about  this  panelling,  is  not  the 
panel  at  all  —  it's  the  rich  purple  and  gold  Genoese 
velvet.  I  had  it  made  by  a  noted  firm  in  Lyons.  Don't 
you  think  it  exquisite?" 

"If  I  ever  get  rich  I'll  have  a  piece  of  it  for  the  collar 
of  my  coat. " 

"  I  got  my  painters  from  Paris  to  do  the  ceilings.  They 
worked  very  quickly,  but  they  knew  how  to  charge. 
The  window  curtains,  you  see,  are  of  the  same  material 
as  the  purple  and  gold  velvet  in  the  panels,  while  the 
under  curtains  are  hand- woven  of  Brussels  net  and  inter 
woven  with  silk.  The  wardrobe,  little  washstand  and 
dressing  table  are  of  ebony  and  ivory,  the  chairs,  of  solid 
ivory  inlaid  with  gold  and  ebony,  were  all  made  to  match 
the  bedstead." 

Stuart  looked  at  his  hostess  curiously. 


372  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  thought  I  knew  you,  Nan,  but  this  is  a  revelation. 
I  could  never  have  guessed  by  the  wildest  leap  of  my 
imagination.  It's  beyond  belief. " 

"Don't  you  like  it?"  she  asked,  with  a  hurt  expression. 

"I'm  stunned.  The  most  wonderful  thing  to  me  in 
the  room,  though,  is  not  the  bedstead,  but  the  woman 
standing  beside  it. " 

A  flash  of  light  came  from  the  dark  eyes  and  the  mag 
nificent  figure  grew  tense  for  a  moment  as  she  smiled 
with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"I'm  lost  in  wonder  at  the  riotous  glory  of  your  capac 
ity  for  sensuous  joy.  I  could  imagine  Juno  on  the 
heights  of  Olympus  executing  such  a  dream  of  mad 
luxury,  but  I  could  never  have  conceived  of  this,  here, 
if  I  had  not  seen  it.  And  yet,  now  that  I  see  you  in  the 
setting,  I'm  sure  you  were  made  for  it.  The  whole 
scheme  is  harmonious  —  it  scares  me " 

"Scares  you?"  she  repeated  with  quick  displeasure. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  jokingly.  "It  almost  reconciles 
me  to  being  a  bachelor." 

A  look  of  pain  swept  the  expressive  face  and  he  was 
sorry  he  had  said  it.  The  joke  seemed  out  of  harmony 
with  her  mood.  She  had  taken  herself  seriously  in  the 
creation  of  this  room,  and  had  spent  on  it  around  million. 
The  effect  it  had  produced  on  the  man's  mind  was  any 
thing  but  flippant.  He  dared  not  tell  how  deeply  he 
was  moved,  how  every  desire  had  awakened  into  fierce, 
cruel  longing  as  the  subtle  scheme  of  sensuous  dreaming 
had  unfolded  itself  before  his  eyes.  He  began  to  won 
der  whether  there  were  really  any  complexity  or  any 
mystery  at  all  about  her,  whether  she  were  not  very 
simple  and  very  elemental. 

The  picture  she  made  standing  in  this  wonderful 
room  was  one  that  never  faded  from  his  memory.  The 
poise  of  her  superb  form;  the  fires  that  smouldered  in 


Through  Purple  Curtains  373 

the  depths  of  her  eyes;  the  tenderness  with  which  her 
senses  seemed  to  drink  in  the  daring  luxury;  the  smile 
that  played  about  her  lips,  joyous,  sensuous,  cruel! 

In  vivid  flashes  he  saw  in  her  shining  face  the  record  of 
it  all  —  the  naked  African  hunters,  crawling  through 
forest  jungles,  stalking  and  bringing  down  in  pools 
of  blood  the  huge  beasts  who  paid  their  tribute  to  her 
beauty;  the  army  of  toiling  artists  who  bent  their  aching 
backs  for  days  and  weeks  and  months  and  years,  carving 
the  pictures  in  those  white  shining  surfaces  to  please 
her  fancy;  the  bowed  figures  of  the  weavers  in  Lyons 
and  Brussels,  these  deft  fingers  working  into  matchless 
form  the  costly  fabrics  to  please  her  eye  and  soothe  the 
touch  of  her  fingers  as  she  drew  back  her  curtains  of 
purple  and  gold  to  let  in  the  morning  sunlight! 

He  wondered  vaguely  what  such  a  woman,  clothed 
with  such  power,  would  do  if  suddenly  thwarted  in  a 
wish  on  which  her  heart  was  set? 

And  then  it  swept  over  him  that  she  was  no  strange 
Egyptian  princess,  no  sorceress  of  the  Nile,  no  fairy 
of  poet's  fancy,  but  just  the  girl  he  had  loved  and  lost 
and  yet  who  had  come  back  into  his  life  in  the  dazzling 
splendour  of  her  own  day-dreams  —  one  of  the  rulers  of 
the  world.  He  looked  at  her  a  moment  and  she  seemed 
a  being  of  another  planet.  He  looked  again  and  saw 
the  laughing  school-girl,  his  playmate  on  the  red  hills 
of  his  native  state. 

"Why  so  pensive,  Jim?"  she  asked. 

"It  seems  all  a  dream,  Nan,"  he  answered.  "I'll 
rub  my  eyes  and  wake  up  directly.  I  thought  your 
New  York  house  a  miracle.  This  is  fairyland. " 

"Perhaps  it  would  be, "  she  said,  looking  at  him  a  mo 
ment  through  half  closed  eyes,  "if  only  the  prince  - 

A  look  of  pain  unconsciously  clouded  his  face  and  the 
sentence  was  not  finished. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    LAND    OF    THE    SKY 

On  the  fourth  day  Nan  planned  a  coaching  party 
to  ascend  Mount  Mitchell,  the  highest  peak  in  the  Land 
of  the  Sky,  the  highest  point  of  ground  this  side  the 
Rockies.  She  had  taken  this  trip  with  Stuart  sixteen 
years  before.  She  was  then  but  fifteen,  and  he  had  just 
begun  to  dangle  at  her  heels.  She  did  not  tell  him  their 
destination,  but  left  him  to  discover  for  himself  that 
they  were  travelling  over  the  same  old  quiet  road. 

The  party  consisted  of  half  a  dozen  boys  and  girls 
whom  Nan  was  chaperoning,  Stuart,  the  footman  and 
coachman.  The  start  was  made  at  sunrise.  The  morn 
ing  was  glorious,  the  air  rich  with  the  full  breath  of  a 
southern  spring.  The  footman  lifted  the  bugle  to  his 
lips,  and  its  music  rang  over  the  hills  and  broke  into 
a  thousand  echoes  as  its  notes  bounded  upward  from 
cliff  to  cliff.  The  whip  cracked  over  the  back  of  four 
sleek  horses  and  they  were  off,  amid  screams  of  laughter 
from  the  youngsters. 

Stuart  felt  his  heart  leap  with  the  joy  of  youth.  The 
rivers  and  mountains,  birds  and  fields  of  his  native 
heath  were  calling  once  more,  and  his  soul  answered 
with  a  cry! 

At  the  foot  of  the  first  hill  the  coach  suddenly  stopped 
beside  the  banks  of  the  Swannanoa  River. 

Nan  leaped  to  the  ground,  drew  Stuart  with  her  to 
the  rear  of  the  coach,  and  raised  her  arms. 

"Lift  me  up,7'  she  cried,  laughing. 

374 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  375 

He  placed  his  hands  under  her  arms  and  with  a  leap 
and  a  cry  of  laughter  she  was  in  the  empty  baggage  rack. 

"Now  up  with  you!"  she  cried. 

In  a  moment  Stuart  was  seated  snugly  by  her  side 
and  the  big  red  coach  was  rolling  along  the  old  road 
beside  the  banks  of  the  laughing  river. 

"Now,  sir/'  Nan  whispered,  "do  you  know  where 
you  are  going?" 

Stuart  nodded. 

"Where?"  she  asked,  mischievously,  as  she  laid  her 
warm  hand  with  a  sudden  grip  on  his. 

"To  a  certain  peak  among  the  clouds,  where  you  and 
I  once  went  a  thousand  years  ago." 

Nan  nestled  a  little  closer  —  or  perhaps  it  was  the 
swaying  of  the  coach  that  made  him  think  she  did  — 
and  softly  said : 

"You  remember  this  road?" 

"I've  seen  it  a  hundred  times  in  my  dreams  since 
that  wonderful  day.  It  winds  along  the  banks  of  the 
Swannanoa  for  twenty  miles,  always  climbing  higher 
and  higher  until  the  river  becomes  a  limpid  trout 
stream.  We  stop  at  the  old  road-house,  stay  all  night, 
and  next  morning  take  the  bridle  path  with  the  funny 
pack-horses  and  climb  to  the  first  mountain  top,  still 
following  the  little  stream.  We  stoop  to  drink  from 
the  spring  which  is  the  river's  source  —  a  deep  bold 
spring  hung  with  long  festoons  of  green  moss  and  set 
with  ferns  and  rhododendron " 

"Fine,  Jimmy,  fine!"  she  cried  with  girlish  mockery. 
" Your  geography  lesson  was  perfect!  You  can  walk 
home  with  me  after  school." 

Stuart  looked  at  her  and  broke  into  a  laugh.  Again 
they  were  boy  and  girl,  and  the  only  change  he  could 
see  was  that  she  was  more  splendidly  beautiful  at  thirty- 
one  than  she  had  ever  promised  to  be  at  fifteen. 


376  The  Root  of  Evil 

The  spirit  of  joy  was  resistless.  He  flung  to  the  winds 
the  last  shred  of  conventional  dignity  as  the  coach  rolled 
lazily  over  the  rocky  road,  throwing  them  from  side 
to  side. 

"You  remember  how  shocked  you  were  in  this  same 
seat,  Jim,  that  day  in  the  sweet  long  ago  when  the  old 
coach  threw  me  into  your  arms?  " 

"Yes,  I  felt  that  I  was  taking  a  mean  advantage 
of  you." 

"I  blushed  furiously,  didn't  I?" 

"Yes,  and  I  wonder  now  what  your  real  thoughts 
were;  you  don't  remember,  I  suppose?" 

"As  distinctly  as  though  it  were  yesterday,"  Nan 
answered,  dreamily. 

"What  did  you  think  of  my  embarrassment?" 

"I  thought  you  were  an  awful  fool  not  to  accept 
more  gracefully  and  thankfully  the  providence  which 
threw  a  pretty  girl  your  way." 

The  coach  gave  a  sudden  lurch  and  threw  her  into 
Stuart's  arms  again. 

"And  now?  "  he  cried,  laughingly,  as  he  held  her  firmly 
for  a  moment,  to  prevent  her  falling. 

She  blushed  furiously,  threw  the  ringlets  of  dark  hair 
from  her  face  and  drew  back  to  her  position. 

"Now,  of  course,  it's  unlawful,"  she  answered  with 
sober  playfulness. 

The  man  watched  her  slyly  for  the  next  half-mile. 
She  was  very,  very  quiet.  Was  he  mistaken  in  the  idea 
that  her  body  had  trembled  with  unusual  violence  for 
the  moment  he  had  held  her?  Or  was  it  the  quiver  of 
the  coach  over  the  gravel  in  the  road  and  the  swaying 
of  their  seat?  The  sense  of  danger  which  the  little 
incident  roused  was  only  momentary.  The  scenes 
through  which  they  were  passing  were  resistless.  He 
caught  the  odour  of  crushed  violets  from  the  fence  corner 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  377 

and  the  smell  of  the  young  grass  broken  beneath  the 
hoof  of  a  horse;  the  ploughman  was  turning  at  the  end 
of  the  row.  The  low  music  of  the  river  and  the  pano 
rama  of  white  fleeting  clouds  across  the  blue  of  matchless 
southern  skies,  awoke  a  thousand  memories.  Again 
he  was  a  Southern  boy.  He  heard  the  laughter  of 
big-mouthed,  jolly  negroes  eating  watermelons  in  the 
shade  of  great  trees  and  the  song  of  mocking  birds  in 
the  stillness  of  summer  nights! 

A  rabbit  ran  across  the  road  and  he  smiled  at  the 
recollection  of  his  first  hunt.  A  quail  whistled  from  the 
tangle  of  blackberry  briars  by  the  roadside.  He 
looked  quickly  and  saw  the  bob  white  sitting  on  the 
top  rail  of  the  old  worm  fence. 

He  seized  Nan's  arm. 

"Look,  Nan!" 

She  looked  and  smiled  and  the  tears  came  unbidden. 
She  turned  away  a  moment  and  he  didn't  see. 

They  spent  the  night  at  the  same  old  road-house  and 
slept  on  feather  beds.  He  hadn't  felt  the  touch  of  a 
feather  bed  in  years.  He  dreamed  that  he  was  at 
school  again,  a  man  of  thirty-five,  playing  marbles  with 
a  crowd  of  towheaded  boys  and  they  were  beating  him 
at  the  game  while  Nan  was  standing  near,  her  long  plait 
of  black  hair  hanging  down  her  back,  laughing  at  him 
because  he  was  barefooted!  He  woke  with  a  groan, 
shook  off  the  nightmare,  and  slept  soundly  until 
morning. 

They  started  next  day  at  eight  o'clock  with  the  pack- 
horses  to  make  the  trip  along  the  dim  bridle  trail,  four 
teen  miles  up  the  sides  of  frowning  cliffs  and  over  the 
tops  of  balsam-crowned  peaks  to  the  summit  of  Mount 
Mitchell. 

Nan  led  the  way,  mounted  on  a  sure-footed  young 
stallion,  and  Stuart  followed  her  on  a  little  black  mule 


378  The  Root  of  Evil 

he  had  selected  from  the  barn  for  his  exact  likeness  to 
one  he  had  raised  as  a  pet  when  a  boy.  The  youngsters 
came  struggling  after  them,  mounted  on  an  assortment 
of  shaggy,  scrubby  looking  animals  that  knew  the  moun 
tain  path  as  a  rabbit  knows  his  trail  in  the  jungle. 

They  stopped  for  luncheon  at  the  spring  which  forms 
the  source  of  the  Swannanoa  and  Stuart  drank  again 
from  its  cold  limpid  waters,  while  Nan's  laughter  rang 
in  his  ears. 

At  one  o'clock  they  passed  through  the  first  series 
of  clouds  and  out  into  the  sunlight  beyond.  The  next 
line  of  clouds  was  dark  and  threatening  and  suddenly 
poured  rain.  Slowly  but  surely  the  horses  picked  their 
way  up  the  mountain-side  through  the  storm  and 
suddenly  walked  out  into  the  sunlight  again;  they 
looked  down  on  the  smooth  flat  surface  of  the  clouds 
through  which  they  had  passed. 

"Glorious!"  Stuart  cried. 

"We  didn't  see  this  when  we  came  before,  you  re 
member,"  she  answered.  "It  rained  all  the  way  up." 

"Yes,  it  rains  up  here  almost  every  day  in  the  year, 
but  the  guide  says  we're  going  to  get  a  view  of  six  states 
to-morrow." 

It  was  dusk  when  the  party  reached  the  summit. 
The  horses  were  loosened  to  graze  in  the  open  field  and 
the  guides  hurried  to  build  a  fire  in  front  of  the  cave 
made  by  a  projecting  ledge  of  rock  beneath  which  the 
party  was  to  sleep. 

The  bed  of  balsam  boughs  was  too  sharp  a  contrast 
to  Nan's  million-dollar-room  to  permit  Stuart  much 
sleep.  Besides  the  youngsters  were  giggling  and  laugh 
ing  and  joking  most  of  the  night.  Only  a  big  log 
marked  the  partition  wall  between  the  men's  and 
women's  side  of  the  cave.  The  space  was  so  limited 
it  was  necessary  to  sleep  close  together.  The  girls 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  379 

and  boys  never  grew  tired  cracking  silly  jokes  about 
the  magnificence  of  their  sleeping  quarters.  In  vain 
Nan  begged  for  quiet.  It  was  three  o'clock  before  they 
were  still  at  last  and  she  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

Stuart  rose,  sat  before  the  log  fire  and  watched  the 
regular  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom  as  she  slept  like  a 
child.  On  a  distant  mountain-side  he  heard  the  howl 
of  a  lonely  wolf.  Sixteen  years  ago  the  mountains  were 
full  of  them  and  they  came  quite  close.  He  was  re 
minded  of  the  narrowing  strip  of  the  savage  world,  fast 
disappearing  before  the  march  of  civilization. 

"I  wonder  if  we'll  ever  conquer  the  last  jungle  — 
the  heart  of  man?"  he  mused.  " Somehow  I  have  my 
doubts,  and  yet  the  faith  never  dies." 

Again  he  looked  at  the  sleeping  woman  and  a  wave 
of  fierce  mad  rebellion  swept  his  heart.  Somewhere 
inside  of  him  he  heard  the  lonely  cry  of  another  wolf. 

" She's  mine  —  mine!  Nature  gave  her  to  me  in 
the  morning  of  life  —  I  was  a  fool.  I  should  have 
taken  her  by  force,  if  need  be,  and  she  would  have 
thanked  me  in  after  years.  She  has  complied  with 
the  conventions  of  Society  and  trampled  the  highest 
law  of  Life.  Why  not  smash  convention  now  at  the 
call  of  that  law?" 

Again  the  wolf  howled  in  the  distant  darkness  and 
it  seemed  the  echo  of  his  own  mad  cry.  He  waked 
from  his  reverie  with  an  angry  start.  He  shuddered 
that  he  could  have  harboured  the  thought  for  a  moment. 

The  eastern  horizon  was  beginning  to  glow  with  the 
dawn.  He  rose,  walked  to  the  summit,  and  sat  down 
on  the  pile  of  stones  that  marked  the  grave  of  Professor 
Mitchell.  He  watched  in  silence  until  he  saw  the  sun's 
red  rim  suddenly  leap  above  the  blue-black  peaks  of 
the  east  and  drive  the  last  shadow  of  the  night  from  the 
valleys  below.  With  their  fading  mists  he  felt  the 


380  The  Root  of  Evil 

darkness  lift  from  his  own  heart  and  the  sunlight  of 
reason  stream  in.  A  new  joy  welled  up  from  the  depths 
of  his  spirit.  He  was  alive  to  his  finger  tips  and  his 
imagination  glowed  with  the  consciousness  that  life 
was  strong  and  clean,  and  worth  while. 

"With  the  help  of  God  I'll  keep  it  so,  too!"  he  cried. 
"I'm  ready  for  the  fight  now.  Let  it  come." 

He  knew  instinctively  that  it  was  coming.  He  felt 
it  in  every  word  that  had  fallen  from  Nan's  lips  since 
they  left  on  this  trip.  He  felt  it  most  keenly  of  all  when 
she  was  silent,  read  it  in  the  tremour  of  her  mouth,  the 
shadowy  tenderness  of  her  eyes,  the  low,  deep  tones  of 
her  voice.  What  he  couldn't  know  was  how  hard  that 
fight  was  going  to  be! 

Both  Nan  and  the  youngsters  slept  like  children  until 
nine  o'clock.  He  helped  the  guides  prepare  breakfast 
without  waking  the  sleepers  and  called  them  at  nine. 

By  ten  o'clock  breakfast  was  over,  the  guides  had 
formed  two  exploring  parties  and  set  out  with  the  young 
people  chattering  and  laughing.  "We'll  keep  house, 
Jim,  here  in  God's  palace  among  the  clouds,  until  they 
return." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  cheerily,  "and  it  will  be  fun  to 
keep  it  alone,  won't  it,  with  no  restraints  or  studied 
pretense,  no  crowd  of  fools  or  liveried  flunkies  near  at 
hand;  only  these  big  dark  balsams  for  sentinels." 

They  sat  down  on  the  ledge  of  rock  which  formed 
their  cave-house  and  gazed  over  the  marvellous  pano 
rama  of  a  world  transformed  into  blue  billowy  moun 
tains,  flying  clouds  and  turquoise  skies.  Over  it  all 
brooded  the  deep  solemn  silence  of  eternity.  Not  a 
sound  reached  the  ear  from  earth  or  air.  Far  up  in 
the  sky  an  eagle  poised  and  looked  below  in  silence. 
Not  a  house  could  be  seen  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach; 
only  here  and  there  a  white  patch  on  the  dark  blue 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  381 

mountain-side  showed  like  a  farmer's  scar  that  hadn't 
healed.  These  were  the  fields  of  farmers  on  the  lower 
ranges,  but  their  houses  were  hidden  among  the  trees. 

Nan  was  leaning  back  on  her  elbow  on  the  blanket 
Stuart  had  spread  for  her,  watching  his  face  change  its 
mood  with  each  flying  cloud. 

"Our  luck  is  wonderful  to-day,  Nan,"  he  said  at 
last.  "The  guides  say  this  is  one  of  the  rarest  days  a 
traveller  ever  finds  on  this  peak.  We  might  come  a 
hundred  times  and  never  strike  it  again." 

"Why?  "she  asked  lazily. 

"The  air's  so  crisp  and  clear.  A  mountain  fifty 
miles  away  seems  a  stone's  throw.  We've  but  to  sweep 
the  horizon  with  a  single  turn  of  the  head  and  see  six 
states  of  the  Union.  Eastward  stretches  North  Caro 
lina  to  the  coast,  to  the  north  there  in  that  bristling 
line  of  lower  hills  stands  old  Virginia.  To  the  west 
loom  the  mountains  of  Tennessee  and  Kentucky  and 
southward  rise  the  crags  of  western  Georgia  and  South 
Carolina  —  but  it  don't  seem  so  wonderful  to  you,  I 
suppose." 

"Why  not?" 

"You  must  see  most  of  it  from  your  windows  every 
day." 

"But  not  with  your  eyes,  Jim!"  she  cried.  "I  have 
everything  and  I  have  nothing.  There  is  no  meaning 
to  anything  we  do  or  see  or  possess  if  the  one  thing  we 
desire  is  withheld." 

"I  might  have  made  that  speech,  Nan,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "It  sounds  strange  on  your  lips." 

"With  my  houses  in  town  and  country,  with  every 
whim  of  body  and  soul  apparently  gratified,  perhaps 
it  does  sound  strange.  But  suppose  that  all  this  mad 
ness  of  luxury,  at  which  you  wonder,  is  but  the  vain 
effort  of  a  hungry  heart?" 


382  The  Root  of  Evil 

The  man  was  silent.  The  question  was  too  dangerous 
to  try  to  answer,  too  dangerous  to  leave  unanswered. 

"You  haven't  answered,"  she  insisted. 

"No.  Answers  to  such  questions  don't  come  so 
glibly  here  in  these  silent  places,  Nan,"  he  responded 
seriously. 

"That's  why  I  brought  you  here,"  she  confessed. 
"Besides,  I  knew  you  loved  this  wild  spot.  The  memory 
of  your  rapture  that  day,  sixteen  years  ago,  has  never 
left  me." 

"You  used  to  love  such  places,  too,"  he  said  looking 
away  over  the  blue  billows.  "What  deep- toned 
eternal  things  they  spoke!  How  small  and  contemp 
tible  the  struggle  of  the  insects  in  those  valleys  below!" 

"Come  back  to  my  question,"  the  woman  insisted, 
with  quiet  determination.  "You  are  not  a  coward. 
The  time  has  come  in  our  lives  when  we  should  begin 
to  see  things  as  they  are." 

"I've  been  trying  to  do  that  for  a  long  time,"  he 
answered  sorrowfully. 

"And  haven't  succeeded,"  she  added  promptly. 
"The  trouble  is,  Jim,  that  life  is  a  tissue  of  lies.  We 
are  born  in  lies,  grow  up  in  lies,  live  and  move  and  have 
our  being  in  lies.  Our  highest  wisdom  is  the  law  of 
hypocrisy  which  we  call  diplomacy.  I've  found  that 
society  is  one  living  lie.  We  say  'good  morning'  and 
wish  we  could  murder  the  man  we  greet.  We  say  'call 
again'  and  wish  it  may  be  never.  We  live  two  lives 
or  we  don't  live  at  all  —  one  outward  and  visible,  the 
other  secret.  We  must  be  true  to  one  and  laugh  at 
the  other.  I'm  growing  sick  of  lies!" 

Stuart  looked  at  her  flushed  face  with  a  deepening 
thrill  of  the  drama  of  the  soul  its  quick  changing  ex 
pression  shadowed. 

"Well?" 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  383 

"I've  grown  to  feel  of  late,"  she  went  on  rapidly, 
"that  it's  a  shame  to  dodge.  The  only  law  my  hus 
band  has  ever  known  is  to  take  what  he  wants.  I've 
the  right  to  live  my  own  life.  We  must  each  of  us 
choose  our  world,  the  one  of  conventions  and  shams  or 
the  big  one  that's  beyond  —  the  world  of  reality,  where 
free  men  and  women  live  and  work  in  freedom  while 
youth  and  daring  lead  the  way." 

She  paused  and  Stuart's  lips  parted  in  amazement. 
Never  had  he  heard  such  eloquence  from  the  woman 
before  him.  Words  leaped  from  her  heart,  quivering 
with  emotion,  her  whole  being  stirred  to  its  depths. 

"Jim,"  she  went  on  falteringly,  "  I'm  lonely  and  heart 
sick.  I'm  trying  to  tell  you  that  I  want  your  love; 
that  I  can't  live  any  longer  without  it." 

Her  head  sank  low  and  a  sob  caught  her  voice. 

"There  I've  told  you  —  I've  no  pride  left.  Tell  me 
that  you  love  me.  I  want  to  hear  it  a  thousand  times. 
I  want  it,  right  or  wrong!" 

She  paused  a  moment  and  looked  through  a  tear  into 
his  pale,  serious  face. 

"I  know  that  you  love  me,"  she  went  on.  "It's 
only  your  stubborn  pride  that  keeps  you  silent  now. 
My  God!  Speak!  Say  something,  if  only  to  curse 
me!" 

"You  should  have  thought  of  this,  Nan,  before  these 
gray  hairs  began  to  creep  into  my  hair." 

"  I  did,  Jim ! "  she  cried,  eagerly  bending,  near.  "God 
knows  I  fought!  You  never  knew  it,  but  I  did.  For 
whole  nights  I  wrestled  with  the  fiend  that  tempted 
me  and  fought  for  my  love.  It  took  days  and  weeks 
to  strangle  its  hold  on  my  heart  and  force  me  to  betray 
myself.  If  I  had  seen  you  on  the  day  of  my  marriage 
I  would  have  leaped  from  the  carriage,  rushed  to  your 
side,  and  fainted  in  your  arms.  With  the  despair  of 


384  The  Root  of  Evil 

a  lost  soul  I  searched  the  faces  of  the  staring  crowd, 
hoping  against  hope  that  I  might  see  you.  Oh,  Jim, 
it's  not  too  late  to  live!  Look  at  me,  dearest,  and  say 
it's  not.  For  God's  sake  tell  me  that  you  love  me  still! 
Am  I  old?  Am  I  faded?" 

The  man  had  felt  sure  of  himself  when  she  began, 
but  the  tenderness,  the  passion,  the  yearning  appeal  of 
her  voice  were  more  than  he  could  resist.  A  wave  of 
desperate  longing  convulsed  his  being.  He  seized  her 
hand  with  cruel  force. 

"Look  into  my  eyes,  Nan!"  he  cried,  "and  let  me 
see  the  bottom  of  your  soul!" 

She  lifted  her  dark  lustrous  eyes,  devouring  him  with 
love. 

"You'll  find  only  your  image  there,  Jim." 

He  looked  at  her  sternly. 

"Before  I  take  you  into  my  arms  and  smother  you 
with  kisses,"  he  whispered  fiercely,  "there  mustn't 
be  any  mistake  this  time.  I've  got  to  know  that  your 
love  for  me  is  the  biggest  thing  in  your  life  —  the  only 
thing  in  your  life ! " 

"I  swear  it!"  she  gasped. 

"You've  got  to  prove  it;  I'm  going  to  put  you  to  the 
test." 

"Any  test!"  she  broke  in  quickly. 

"  I  warn  you,"  he  went  on,  with  increasing  seriousness, 
''the  test  will  be  a  real  one.  You  and  I,  Nan,  could 
never  be  happy  with  the  shadow  of  Bivens's  fortune 
over  us." 

"But,  its  shadow  can't  be  over  us!  It's  going  to 
be  yours.  He  has  given  it  to  me  —  his  death  is  only 
a  question  of  a  year  or  two  —  and  I'm  going  to  give  it 
all  to  you." 

The  strong  jaws  closed  with  sudden  energy. 

"There's  not  a  dollar    of    his    millions    that    isn't 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  385 

smirched.     I'd  sooner  wear  the  rags  of  a  leper  than  soil 
my  hands  with  it." 

"Then  I'll  have  to  hold  it  in  trust  for  you/'  she 
laughed. 

"  There's  where  the  test  conies  —  you  can't  do  it. 
If  you  love  me  you  will  have  to  give  up  these  millions." 

"Jim,  you're  not  serious?  " 

"Never  more  serious  in  my  life." 

Nan  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment  and  broke  into 
a  low  laugh. 

"Of  course,  you're  teasing  me.  You  can't  be  in 
earnest  in  such  an  absurd  dime-novel  idea!  Give 
away  this  enormous  fortune,  this  power  equal  to  the 
sway  of  kings  which  you  can  wield  with  a  strength  and 
dignity  the  man  who  made  it  never  knew?  You  can't 
be  in  earnest?" 

"I  am,"  was  the  firm  answer. 

The  woman  placed  her  hand  tenderly  in  his  and 
nestled  close  to  his  side. 

"Come,  Jim,  dear,  this  is  a  practical  world,  you  have 
some  common  sense  even  if  you  are  a  man  of  genius; 
you're  not  insane!" 

"I  think  not,"  he  answered,  soberly. 

"You  can  not  make  this  absurd  demand  on  me," 
she  repeated  slowly,  "knowing  the  awful  price  I  paid 
for  these  millions?" 

"It's  because  I  know  it  that  I  make  the  demand," 
he  went  on,  passionately.  "We  are  face  to  face  now, 
you  and  I,  with  all  the  little  subterfuges  and  lies  of  life 
torn  from  our  eyes.  The  fact  that  the  price  at  which  he 
bought  you  was  high  —  say  a  hundred  millions  — 
does  not  change  the  fact.  I  refuse  to  share  with  the 
woman  I  love  the  price  for  which  she  sold  herself, 
whether  the  sum  be  a  hundred  dollars  or  a  hundred 
millions!  I  can  forgive  and  have  forgiven  the  wrong 


386  The  Root  of  Evil 

you've  done  me,  but  I  could  never  share    its   conscious 
degradation." 

A  flush  of  anger  overspread  Nan's  face. 

"Jim,  this  is  stupid  pride,  the  stupidest  of  all  pride, 
the  vainest  and  the  meanest,  the  pride  of  the  poor  man. 
It's  detestable.  I  thought  you  were  greater.  There's 
some  excuse  for  the  pride  of  wealth,  but  there's  none 
for  the  pride  of  poverty!" 

"It's  a  question  of  character,"  was  the  firm  answer. 
"It  cuts  to  the  deepest  issues  of  life  between  us.  There 
can  be  no  compromise." 

Nan  looked  at  him  in  despair,  her  eyes  suddenly 
clouding  with  tears. 

"What  do  you  mean  when  you  say  give  up  these 
millions?  " 

"Just  what  I  say,"  he  answered  quickly. 

"But  I  couldn't  throw  them  into  the  street,  what 
would  I  do  with  them?  " 

"You  can  give  them  back  to  the  people,  the  public, 
from  whom  they  were  taken;  the  people  whose  labour 
created  their  value.  That's  what  an  honest  man  does 
when  he  finds  he  has  wronged  his  neighbour.  The 
things  we  possess  come  at  last  to  possess  us.  In  a  very 
deep  and  real  sense  they  give  to  us  their  character. 
An  ermine  robe  that  covers  a  leper  does  not  make 
him  a  king,  but  the  royal  robe  at  last  breathes 
leprosy.  You  can't  separate  money  from  the  process 
of  its  making.  It  has  no  value  in  itself.  It  is 
only  a  symbol,  and  always  takes  a  soul  from  the 
hand  of  its  creator.  There's  not  a  stone  in  your 
palaces  whose  cement  was  not  mixed  in  human  tears. 
The  stain  of  blood  is  in  every  scarlet  thread  of  your 
carpets,  rugs,  and  curtains.  Your  magnificent  paint 
ings,  your  gorgeous  furniture,  your  beds  of  ebony 
and  carved  ivory  —  do  you  think  these  things  possess 


Nan  looked  at  him  in  despair" 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  387 

no  soul  ?     Do   you   think   they   could  not  laugh  at 
me?" 

"Surely,  you  are  not  such  a  weakling!"  Nan  cried, 
with  a  flush  of  contempt. 

"If  to  hold  honour  dearer  than  life  is  the  creed  of 
a  weakling,  I  am  one." 

"But  you  are  talking  like  a  mad  anarchist.  His 
money  was  made  as  all  great  fortunes  are  made," 

"So  much  the  worse  for  our  financiers.  Civilization 
must  rest  at  least  on  justice  or  it  can't  endure." 

"But,  Jim,  no  matter  what  your  theories  of  life  or 
your  ambitions,  these  millions  will  make  them  more 
powerful." 

"It's  not  true.  Not  a  single  great  man  whose  words 
have  moulded  the  world  was  rich.  The  combined 
fortunes  of  Darwin,  Mozart,  Shakespeare,  Raphael, 
Aristotle,  Socrates,  Mohammed,  and  Buddha  weren't 
equal  to  the  possessions  of  even  the  smallest  and  most 
insignificant  member  of  our  mob  of  six  thousand 
millionaires  —  six  thousand  nobodies !  Don't  think, 
dear,  that  you  haven't  tempted  me  in  the  past.  You 
have.  The  glitter  of  your  millions  once  blinded  me 
and  I  was  on  the  point  of  surrender,  but  I've  won  out. 
I've  entered  at  last  —  to  stay  —  into  the  Kingdom  of 
Mind,  that  lies  beyond  the  rule  of  greed,  where  beauty, 
heroism,  and  genius  have  built  their  altar-fires  and  keep 
them  burning.  You'll  have  to  come  with  me,  Nan, 
into  this  enchanted  land.  Your  estate  is  large  only 
if  you  don't  lift  up  your  head  and  look  farther.  You 
own  a  hundred  thousand  acres  in  the  mountains,  and 
yet,  after  all,  it's  but  a  tiny  speck  on  the  horizon  of 
one  little  corner  of  a  state.  Beyond  is  the  great  world 
with  its  beautiful  rivers,  its  valleys,  its  shining  shores 
and  emerald  seas.  This  big  world  is  mine  —  the  Alps 
and  the  Mountains  of  the  Moon  and  your  little  blue 


388  The  Root  of  Evil 

hills  also  are  on  my  estate.  I've  come  to  know  at  last 
that  the  man  is  richest  who  breathes  deepest,  sees 
farthest,  hears  best,  and  has  the  widest  and  most  helpful 
influence  on  his  fellow-man.  Lord  Beaconsfield  died 
with  a  paltry  estate  of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars. 
He  had  the  chance,  while  prime  minister,  to  take  for 
himself  a  personal  fortune  whose  annual  income  would 
have  been  $25,000,000.  Instead  he  gave  it  all  to  the 
people  of  England  and  died  poor.  I'd  rather  do  such 
a  deed  for  my  country  than  hold  the  combined  fortunes 
of  all  our  six  thousand  little  millionaires. 

"You  think,  dear,  that  you  are  in  Society.  But  the 
real  aristocracy  has  always  been  one  of  brains  and 
ethics.  The  people  in  your  little  world  live  for  money. 
They  do  not  possess  it,  they  are  possessed  by  it.  They 
are  slaves.  You  will  have  to  come  with  me,  into  the 
great  free  world  —  if  you  love  me." 

"If  I  love  you?"  Nan  cried,  with  trembling  lips. 
"Don't  speak  that  way.  If  you  only  knew!  My  love 
for  you  has  kept  me  alive  through  all  that  I've  endured. 
It's  the  only  thing  that's  worth  the  struggle;  but  I 
can't  think.  Your  demand  is  so  sudden,  so  stunning, 
so  terrifying,  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  My  life  and 
all  I  have  is  too  short  to  make  atonement  to  you  and  I 
can't  afford  to  make  a  mistake.  I  want  to  be  sure. 
A  year  from  now  you  might  see  things  differently." 

"We  can  never  be  anything  to  each  other,"  he 
answered  firmly,  "on  any  other  terms  than  the  renun 
ciation  of  all  that  Bivens  leaves.  I  don't  care  what  you 
do  with  it,  just  so  you  wash  your  hands  of  it.  You  and 
I  must  begin  life  just  where  we  left  off  when  the  shadow 
of  his  money  darkened  the  world  for  us  both.  You 
must  give  it  up." 

"It's  hard,  dearest,"  she  said  with  a  sob,    "for  your 
sake    it's    hard.     I've    dreamed    so    many    wonderful 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  389 

things  that  would  come  to  pass  when  I  made  you  the 
master  of  these  millions." 

"You  must  choose  between  his  money  and  my  love; 
you  can't  have  both." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  a  desperate  yearning. 

"HI  do  anything  you  wish,  only  love  me,  dearest," 
she  sobbed.  "I  am  yours,  body  and  soul,  all  that  I 
am  and  all  that  I  have.  You  can  do  with  it  as  you 
please !  All  I  ask  is  to  be  loved  —  loved  —  loved  — 
and  that  you  never  leave  me!" 

But  even  as  she  spoke,  her  mind  was  made  up.  She 
would  reserve  at  least  half  her  fortune  secretly.  When 
they  were  married  she  could  persuade  him  to  be  reason 
able. 

"All  right,  then  it's  settled,  but  it  must  be  everything 
with  me  or  nothing.  I  won't  shake  hands  with  my  friend 
and  make  love  to  his  wife.  You  must  cease  to  be  his 
wife  now." 

"But  how  —  what  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  white 
with  sudden  fear. 

"Leave  your  husband,  your  palaces,  your  millions 
and  join  me  to-morrow  night  on  the  Limited  for  New 
York.  Bring  only  a  change  of  clothes  in  a  single  trunk 
and  a  hand-bag.  My  money  must  be  sufficient.  I'll 
wire  for  passage  on  an  outgoing  steamer.  We'll  spend 
two  years  in  Europe  and  return  to  America  when  we 
please.  Are  you  ready?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  dear,"  she  f altered  —  " you  know  that 
would  be  madness!" 

"Certainly  it's  madness,  the  madness  of  a  great  love! 
Come,  why  do  you  hesitate?" 

The  lines  of  her  body  relaxed  and  she  began  to  softly 
sob.  The  man  waited  in  silence  for  her  to  speak. 

"I've  done  you  harm  enough,  dearest,"  she  said  at 
last.  "I  can't  do  this." 


390  The  Root  of  Evil 

"And  your  thought  is  only  of  me,  Nan?"  he  asked 
with  piercing  intensity. 

"And  of  myself,"  she  acknowledged  brokenly.  "I 
couldn't  do  such  an  insane,  vulgar  thing." 

"I  didn't  think  you  could,"  was  the  bitter  response. 
"All  I  ask,"  she  pleaded,  "is  to  hear  you  say  that 
you  love  me  now  —  just  as  I  am  with  all  my  faults. 
Can't  we  be  patient  and  yet  honest  with  one  another 
in  the  secret  world  in  which  our  real  lives  are  lived? 
In  that  world  I  am  yours,  and  you  are  mine,  but  a 
woman's  heart  starves  at  last  for  the  words  of  love,  she 
must  have  them  or  die." 

"Well,  I  shall  not  speak,"  he  answered  savagely. 
"Your  husband  is  the  master  of  millions,  but  I  am  the 
master  of  something  bigger  —  I  am  the  master  of 
myself." 

He  paused,  lowered  his  head  and  looked  at  her  through 
his  heavy  eyebrows  drawn  down  for  the  moment  a  veil 
over  his  soul. 

"You  must  remember,"  he  went  en  slowly,  "that 
there's  something  inside  a  real  man  that  claims  one 
woman  all  his  own.  No  man  ever  surrenders  this 
ideal  without  the  death  of  his  self-respect.  I  will  not 
play  a  second  riddle  to  your  little  husband.  There's 
something  that  seals  my  lips,  the  soul  of  my  soul,  the 
thing  that  says  'I  will'  and  { I  will  not,'  the  power  that 
links  me  to  the  infinite  and  eternal." 

The  strong  face  glowed  with  emotion.  The  utter 
sincerity  of  his  deep  vibrant  tones  were  at  last  convinc 
ing.  The  dark  head  dropped  lower.  When  she  lifted 
it  at  last  two  despairing  tears  were  shining  in  her  eyes. 

"I  understand,  Jim,"  she  said  simply,  "We  will 
go  on  as  we  have.  I'll  wait  in  silence." 

He  rose  and  lifted  her  to  her  feet.  The  voices  of 
the  youngsters  rang  up  the  mountain's  side. 


The  Land  of  the  Sky  391 

"No,  we  can't  go  on  like  this  now,  Nan,"  he  said 
with  quiet  strength.  "The  silence  has  been  broken 
between  us.  Your  husband  is  my  friend,  and  from 
to-day  our  lives  must  lie  apart.  It's  the  only  way." 

She  extended  her  hand  and  he  pressed  it  tenderly. 
Her  voice  was  the  merest  sobbing  whisper  when  she 
spoke:  "Yes,  Jim,  I  suppose  it's  the  only  way." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    WHITE    MESSENGER 

In  spite  of  Bivens's  protest  Stuart  returned  to  New 
York  on  the  first  train  the  morning  after  the  coaching 
party  reached  the  house. 

"Stay  a  week  longer,"  the  little  man  urged,  "and 
I'll  go  with  you;  we'll  go  together,  all  of  us,  in  my  car. 
I'm  getting  worse  here  every  day.  I've  got  to  get 
back  to  my  doctors  in  New  York." 

"I'm  sorry,  Cal,"  he  answered  quickly,  "but  I  must 
leave  at  once." 

Nan  allowed  him  to  go  without  an  effort  to  change 
his  decision.  A  strange  calm  had  come  over  her. 
She  drove  to  the  station  with  him  in  silence.  He  began 
to  wonder  what  it  meant. 

As  he  stepped  from  the  machine  she  extended  her 
hand,  with  a  tender  smile,  and  said  in  low  tones: 

"Until  we  meet  again." 

He  pressed  it  gently  and  was  gone. 

He  reached  New  York  thoroughly  exhausted  and  blue. 
The  struggles  through  which  he  had  passed  had  left  him 
bruised.  He  spent  a  sleepless  night  on  the  train  fighting 
its  scenes  over  and  over.  He  had  told  her  their  relations 
on  any  terms  must  cease,  and  yet  he  knew  instinctively 
that  another  struggle  was  possible  on  her  return.  He 
made  up  his  mind  at  once  to  avoid  this  meeting. 

The  sight  of  Harriet  seated  on  the  stoop  of  the  old 
home  by  the  Square  watching  a  crowd  of  children 
play  brought  a  smile  back  to  his  haggard  face. 

392 


The  White  Messenger  393 

He  waved  to  her  a  block  away  and  she  sprang  to  her 
feet  answering  with  a  cry  of  joy.  The  startling  con 
trast  between  the  women  struck  him  again.  She  met 
him  at  the  corner  with  outstretched  hands. 

"What  a  jolly  scene,  little  pal!"  he  cried.  " What's 
the  kid's  convention  about?" 

"  They've  come  to  honour  me  with  their  good  wishes 
on  my  voyage." 

"What  voyage?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  you  didn't  know  —  I've  an  engagement  to 
sing  on  the  Continent  this  summer  —  the  news  came 
the  day  you  left.  Isn't  that  fine?  I  sail  next  week." 

A  sudden  idea  struck  him.  He  dropped  the  bag  he 
was  carrying  and  exclaimed: 

"By  George,  it  is  just  the  thing!" 

"What?"  she  asked  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"Let  me  go  with  you,  girlie?" 

"Oh,  Jim,  if  you  only  would,  I'd  be  in  heaven! 
You  have  never  been  across.  I'd  chaperone  you  and 
show  you  everything  you  ought  to  see.  Please  go! 
Say  you  will!  You've  said  you  would,  and  you  can't 
say  no  —  you're  going,  you're  going!" 

"I  will!"  he  said  with  decision.  "You've  booked 
your  passage?" 

"Yes,  but  I'll  change  it  to  suit  you.  Oh,  goodie, 
goodie!  You're  going,  you're  going!  I'm  perfectly 
happy!" 

He  found  business  which  required  a  week  and  booked 
his  passage  with  Harriet's  on  a  Cunarder  which  sailed 
in  ten  days. 

A  week  later  Nan  and  Bivens  returned  to  their  New 
York  house.  The  papers  were  full  of  stories  of  his 
failing  health.  A  sensational  evening  sheet  issued  an 
extra  announcing  that  he  was  dying.  The  other  papers 
denied  the  report  as  a  fake.  All  reporters  were  denied 


394  The  Root  of  Evil 

admission  to  the  Riverside  home,  and  in  consequence 
the  press  devoted  five  times  the  space  to  his  illness 
they  otherwise  would  have  given. 

Two  days  after  her  arrival  Nan  telephoned  to  Stuart. 

"You  must  come  up  to  see  Cal  to-night,"  she  said 
earnestly,  "he  is  asking  for  you." 

"Is  he  really  dangerously  ill?"  Stuart  interrupted. 

"It's  far  more  serious  than  the  papers  suspect.  He 
has  had  another  attack  of  his  old  trouble.  The  doctors 
say  he  has  a  fighting  chance  —  that's  all.  You'll 
come?" 

"Yes,  early  to-morrow  morning.  I've  an  important 
engagement  to-night  that  will  keep  me  until  twelve 
o'clock.  I'm  sailing  for  Europe  day  after  to-morrow." 

A  sudden  click  at  the  other  end  and  he  was  cut  off. 
His  experienced  ear  told  him  it  was  not  an  accident. 
The  sound  could  only  have  been  made  by  the  person 
to  whom  he  was  talking  quickly  hanging  up  the  receiver. 
He  waited  a  moment  and  called  Nan  back  to  the  tele 
phone. 

"  You  understand,  Nan?  " 

"Yes,  we  were  cut  off." 

"Tell  him  I'll  be  up  early  in  the  morning,  by  ten 
o'clock,  surely.  Good  night." 

The  answer  was  the  merest  whisper : 

"Good  night." 

It  was  just  dawn  when  Stuart's  telephone  rang  and 
he  leaped  from  bed  startled  at  the  unusual  call. 

He  seized  the  receiver  and  could  hear  no  voice. 
Apparently  some  one  was  fumbling  at  the  other  end 
and  he  felt  the  impression  of  a  woman's  sleeve  or  dress 
brushing  the  instrument. 

"Well,  well,"  he  cried  in  quick,  impatient  tones, 
"what  is  it?  What's  the  matter? " 

"Is  that  you?"  came  the  faint  echo  of  a  woman's  voice. 


The  White  Messenger  395 

" Who  is  this,  please?" 

"Jim,  don't  you  know  my  voice!     It's  Nan!" 

"  I  didn't  recognize  it.  You  spoke  so  queerly.  What 
is  it,  Nan?" 

"For  heaven's  sake  come  at  once.  Cal  was  taken 
dangerously  ill  at  two  o'clock.  The  doctors  have  been 
with  him  every  moment.  He  doesn't  get  any  better. 
He  keeps  calling  for  you.  He  insisted  on  my  tele 
phoning.  I'm  frightened.  I  want  to  see  you.  Please 
come?" 

"At  once,  of  course,  I'll  be  there  in  half  an  hour  — 
three  quarters  at  the  most." 

"Thank  you,"  she  gasped,  and  hung  up  her  receiver. 

Stuart's  cab  whirled  up  town  through  rivers  of 
humanity  pouring  down  to  begin  again  the  round  of 
another  day.  At  Fourteenth,  Forty-second,  Fifty- 
ninth,  Sixty-sixth  and  Seventy-second  the  crash  and 
roar  of  the  subterraneous  rivers  caught  his  ear  as  the 
black  torrents  of  men  and  women  swirled  and  eddied 
and  poured  into  the  depths  below.  In  all  the  hurry-  ^ 
ing  thousands  not  one  knew  or  cared  a  straw  whether 
the  man  of  millions  in  his  silent  palace  on  the  Drive 
lived  or  died.  To-morrow  morning  it  would  be  the 
same,  no  matter  what  his  fate,  and  the  next  day  and 
the  next. 

"A  strange  old  world!"  he  mused  as  his  cab  swung 
into  the  Drive  and  dashed  up  to  the  great  house.  A 
liveried  servant  opened  the  iron  gates  wide.  He  was 
evidently  expected.  The  chauffeur  threw  the  little  cab 
up  the  steep  turn  with  a  rush.  He  sprang  out  and 
entered  the  hall  with  quick  silent  tread. 

The  house  was  evidently  in  hopeless  confusion. 
Servants  wandered  in  every  direction  without  order. 
Doctor  after  doctor  passed  in  and  out  and  the  sicken 
ing  odour  of  medicines  filled  the  air.  A  group  of  news- 


396  The  Root  of  Evil 

paper  reporters  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  stairway, 
discussing  in  subdued  whispers  his  chances  of  life  and 
the  probable  effect  of  his  death  on  the  market.  The 
last  barrier  was  down  and  through  the  confusion  and 
panic  Stuart  could  feel  the  chill  of  the  silently  approach 
ing  presence.  Slowly,  remorselessly,  the  white  mes 
senger  of  Eternity  was  drawing  near. 

Nan  stood  shivering  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  pale, 
dishevelled,  her  dark  eyes  wide  and  staring  with  a  new 
expression  of  terror  in  their  depths. 

"How  is  he,  Nan?" 

She  stared  at  him  a  moment  without  seeming  to 
understand  until  Stuart  repeated  his  question. 

"Worse,"  she  stammered  through  chattering  teeth. 
"The  doctors  say  he  can't  possibly  live.  He  has  been 
calling  for  me  for  the  last  hour.  I  —  can't  —  go!" 

"Why?" 

"I'm  afraid!" 

He  took  her  hand.  It  was  cold  and  he  felt  a  tremour 
run  through  her  body  at  his  touch. 

"Come,  come,  Nan,  you're  not  a  silly  child,  but  a 
woman  who  has  passed  through  scenes  in  life  that  held 
tragedies  darker  than  death!" 

"I  can't  help  it;  I'm  afraid,"  she  cried,  shivering  and 
drawing  closer. 

"Come,  drive  out  of  your  thoughts  the  old  foolish 
shadows  that  make  the  end  of  life  a  horror.  To  me 
dying  has  come  to  mean  the  breaking  of  bars.  You 
taught  me  this  the  day  you  killed  my  soul." 

"Hush,  Jim!" 

"It's  true,  don't  be  foolish,"  he  whispered.  "The 
day  you  killed  me,  long  ago,  I  was  lonely  and  afraid 
at  first,  and  then  I  saw  that  death  is  only  the  gray 
mystery  of  the  dawn.  Come,  I'm  ashamed  of  you. 
If  Cal  is  calling,  go  to  him  at  once.  You  must  see  him." 


The  White  Messenger  397 

"I  can't!    Tell  him  that  I'm  ill." 

"I  won't  lie  to  him  in  such  an  hour." 

Shivering  in  silence  she  led  Stuart  to  the  door  of 
Bivens's  room  and  fled  to  her  own. 

On  another  magnificent  bed  of  gleaming  ebony  inlaid 
with  rows  of  opals,  thousands  of  opals,  Stuart  found  the 
little  shrivelled  form.  The  swarthy  face  was  white 
and  drawn,  the  hard  thin  lips  fallen  back  from  two 
rows  of  smooth  teeth  in  pitiful,  fevered  weakness.  He 
was  trying  to  talk  to  the  pastor  of  his  church,  while 
the  fashionable  clergymen  bent  over  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  helpless  misery,  now  and  then  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  sleek,  well-fed  neck. 

"I  want  you  to  go  into  that  next  room  and  pray," 
the  little  man  gasped.  "I  haven't  done  anything  very 
good  or  great  yet,  but  I  have  plans,  great  plans!  Tell 
them  to  God,  ask  Him  to  give  me  a  chance.  Ten  years 
more  —  or  five  —  or  one  —  and  I'll  do  these  things." 

The  shifting  eyes  caught  sight  of  Stuart.  He  re 
leased  the  minister's  hand  and  raised  his  own  to  his  friend. 

"Jim!" 

The  preacher  moved  aside  with  a  sigh  of  relief  and 
softly  tiptoed  out  of  the  room  as  Stuart  took  the  out 
stretched  hand. 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  come  up  here  so  soon," 
he  began  feebly.  "I've  some  plans  I  want  you  to  carry 
out  for  me  right  away.  You  see  I  never  thought  before 
of  the  world  as  a  place  where  there  were  so  many  men 
and  women  sick  and  suffering  —  thousands  and  tens 
and  hundreds  of  thousands.  These  doctors  say  that 
every  night  in  New  York  alone  there  are  half  a  million 
people  sick  or  bending  over  the  beds  of  loved  ones  who 
are  suffering,  and  two  hundred  die  every  day." 

He  paused  for  breath,  and  the  black  eyes  stared  at 
his  friend. 


398  The  Root  of  Evil 

"Jim,  I  can't  die!  I  haven't  lived!  I've  got  to  get 
up  from  here  and  do  some  things  I've  meant  to  do  —  all 
those  sick  people  —  I've  got  to  do  something  for  them. 
I'm  going  to  build  palaces  for  the  lame,  the  halt,  the 
sick,  the  blind.  I'm  going  to  gather  the  great  men  of 
science  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  and  set  them  to  work 
to  lift  this  shadow  from  the  world." 

A  sudden  pain  seized  and  convulsed  his  frail  body 
and  Stuart  called  the  doctors  from  the  next  room. 

They  stood  by  in  helpless  sympathy. 

" Can't  you  stop  this  pain?"  the  financier  gasped 
in  anger.  "What  are  you  here  for?  Am  I  not  able 
to  buy  enough  morphine  to  stop  this  hellish  agony?" 

His  family  doctor  bent  and  said: 

"Your  heart  action  is  too  low  just  now,  Mr.  Bivens, 
you  can't  stand  it." 

"Well,  I  can't  stand  this!     Give  it  to  me,  I  tell  you!" 

The  doctor  took  a  hypodermic  syringe,  filled  it  with 
water  and  injected  it  into  his  arm. 

While  Stuart  watched  the  pitiful  trick,  his  eye  wan 
dered  over  the  magnificent  trappings  of  the  room. 

"What  irony  of  Fate!"  he  exclaimed,  under  his 
breath.  "Not  a  clod  hopper  in  the  field,  nor  a  blacksmith 
at  his  anvil  who  would  change  places  with  him  now — the 
poorest  negro  who  sings  at  his  plow  is  richer." 

The  sufferer  stared  and  beckoned  to  Stuart. 

Handing  him  a  key  which  he  drew  from  beneath  his 
pillow  he  cried: 

"Unlock  the  right-hand  top-drawer  of  that  safe, 
Jim  —  the  door  is  open.  Hand  me  those  bundles  of 
stocks  and  bonds  and  ask  those  doctors  to  come  in 
here." 

Stuart  complied  with  his  request,  and  Bivens  spread 
the  brilliant  coloured  papers  on  the  white  covering  of 
his  bed,  while  the  doctors  drew  near. 


The  White  Messenger  399 

"Listen  now,  gentlemen,"  he  began,  still  gasping  with 
pain.  "You're  our  greatest  living  doctors,  I'm  told. 
Well,  I'm  not  willing  to  die,  I  won't  die  —  do  you  hear? 
I'm  only  forty-nine  years  old.  You  see  here  thirty 
millions  in  gilt-edged  stocks  and  bonds.  Well,  there 
are  three  of  you,  I'll  give  you  ten  millions  each  to  take 
this  stone  off  of  my  breast  that's  smothering  me  and 
give  me  five  years  more  of  life.  My  friend  Stuart  here 
is  witness  to  this  deed  of  gift  —  my  word  is  pledged 
before  him  and  before  God  —  I'll  make  good.  Do  you 
understand?  Ten  millions  each  !  Can  you  grasp 
the  meaning,  the  sweep  and  power  and  grandeur  of 
such  an  offer?  Now,  gentlemen,  do  your  best  for  me 
Just  five  years  more  —  well,  we  won't  haggle  over 
terms  —  give  me  one  year  more  and  I'll  not  complain!" 

The  three  men  of  science  stood  with  folded  helpless 
arms  and  made  no  effort  to  keep  back  the  tears.  They 
had  seen  many  men  die.  It  was  nothing  new  —  and 
yet  the  pity  and  pathos  of  this  strange  appeal  found  its 
way  to  the  soul  of  each.  They  never  envied  a  mil 
lionaire  again. 

They  retired  for  another  consultation.  Stuart  re 
placed  the  papers  and  put  the  key  in  Bivens's  out 
stretched  hand. 

It  was  plain  that  he  was  sinking  rapidly. 

"Ask  Nan  to  come  here  a  minute,"  he  said  feebly. 

Stuart  walked  to  the  door  and  whispered  to  a  servant. 
When  he  returned  to  the  bedside,  the  dying  man  looked 
up  into  his  face  gratefully. 

"You  don't  know  how  it  helps  me  to  have  you  near, 
Jim,  old  boy.  I'm  lonely!  Nan  I  guess  is  ill  and 
broken  down.  I've  lavished  millions  on  her.  I've 
given  her  all  I  possess  in  my  will,  but  somehow  we 
never  found  happiness.  If  I  could  only  have  been  sure 
of  the  deep,  sweet,  unselfish  love  of  one  human  soul  on 


400  The  Root  of  Evil 

this  earth!  If  I  could  only  have  won  a  girl's  heart  when 
I  was  poor;  but  I  was  rich,  and  I've  always  wondered 
whether  she  really  loved  me  for  my  own  sake.  At  least 
I've  always  thanked  God  for  you.  You've  been  a  real 
friend.  Our  hearts  were  young  together  and  you  stood 
by  me  when  —  I  —  was  —  a  —  poor  —  lonely  — 
friendless  —  dog  - 

His  voice  sank  low  and  he  gasped  painfully  for  breath. 
Stuart  knew  the  end  had  come.  He  bent  low  and 
whispered : 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Cal,  old  boy,  we  must  say 
goodbye.  I  must  go  in  a  minute." 

To  his  surprise  the  hand  was  not  extended. 

An  hour  later  when  the  covering  was  turned  back 
from  the  dead  body  he  saw  that  the  smooth  little  cold 
hand  had  gripped  the  key  to  his  treasures  in  a  last  in 
stinctive  grasp. 

Stuart  drew  the  curtains  of  scarlet  and  gold,  touched 
a  spring  and  raised  the  massive  broad  window.  The 
death-chamber  was  flooded  with  fresh  balmy  air  and 
dazzling  sunlight.  All  that  was  left  of  him  who  boasted 
his  mastery  of  the  world  lay  on  the  magnificent  bed, 
a  lump  of  white  cold  flesh  and  projecting  bones.  The 
little  body  looked  stark  and  hideous  in  the  sunlight. 

The  reporters  down  stairs  were  prying  into  his  affairs 
like  so  many  ferrets  to  find  out  how  much  he  left. 
One  of  them  asked  Stuart  his  opinion. 

The  lawyer  gazed  at  the  young  reporter,  thoughtfully, 
while  he  slowly  answered: 

"There's  only  one  thing  sure,  young  man,  he  left  it 
all!" 

Through  the  open  window  Stuart  caught  the  perfume 
of  flowers  on  the  lawn.  The  Italian  gardeners  were 
working  on  the  flower  beds  the  little  man  loved.  The 
great  swan-like  form  of  a  Hudson  River  steamer  swept 


The  White  Messenger  401 

by,  piling  the  white  foam  of  the  clear  waters  on  her 
bow,  bearing  high  on  the  side  the  gilded  name  of  a  man 
who  was  once  Bivens's  associate  in  great  ventures,  but 
who  was  now  wearing  a  suit  of  convict's  stripes  behind 
the  walls  of  a  distant  prison. 

A  long  line  of  barges  loaded  with  brick  for  new  houses 
came  floating  down  the  stream  behind  a  busy  little  tug. 
On  the  soft  morning  breezes  the  young  Southerner's 
keen  ear  caught  the  twang  of  a  banjo  and  the  joyous 
music  of  negro  brickmen  singing  an  old-fashioned  melody 
of  his  native  state ;  while  over  all,  like  an  eternal  chorus, 
came  the  dim  muffled  roar  of  the  city's  life. 

He  looked  again  at  the  lump  of  cold  clay,  and  wondered 
what  was  passing  in  the  soul  of  the  woman  who  was  now 
the  heir  of  all  his  millions. 

Why  had  she  shown  such  strange  and  abject  terror 
over  his  death  —  an  event  she  had  foreseen  and  desired? 
He  recalled  the  hoarse  unnatural  voice  and  the  blind 
fumbling  at  her  telephone. 

A  horrible  suspicion  suddenly  flushed  through  his 
mind! 

He  determined  to  know  at  once.  A  few  skilful 
questions  would  reveal  the  truth.  She  might  be  able 
to  conceal  it  from  the  world,  but  not  from  him.  He 
called  a  servant  and  asked  to  see  Mrs.  Bivens  im 
mediately. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  EYES   OF  PITY 

As  he  had  feared,  Nan  refused  point  blank  to  enter 
the  death  chamber  and  asked  him  to  come  to  her  boudoir. 

He  found  her  standing  by  a  window,  apparently  calm. 
Stuart  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  a  curious  detached 
interest.  Suddenly  aware  of  his  presence  she  turned, 
her  eyes  shining  with  tears,  the  first  he  had  seen  since 
entering  the  house. 

"At  last  —  at  last!"  she  said  in  low  broken  accents. 
"Oh  dear  God,  how  long  I've  waited  and  despaired! 
At  last  we  may  belong  to  each  other  forever  —  body 
and  soul!  Nothing  else  matters  now,  does  it?  We 
shall  forget  all  the  blank  hideous  years;  you'll  forget 
it,  won't  you,  dearest?  You'll  forgive  me  —  now  — 
say  that  you  will?  " 

"I've  long  ago  forgiven,  Nan,  but  tell  me  about  this 
sudden  fatal  attack.  You  were  with  him  when  he  was 
stricken?" 

"Yes,  I  took  the  nurse's  place  at  midnight;  I  couldn't 
sleep." 

Stuart  lowered  his  eyes  to  conceal  his  excitement. 

"How  long  did  you  stay  with  him?  " 

"Until  I  called  you." 

"And  you  gave  him  the  medicine  in  the  absence  of 
the  nurse?" 

"Only  one,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly,  "a  par 
ticular  kind  the  doctor  had  not  prescribed,  but  which 
he  persisted  in  taking  to  relieve  his  pain. " 

402 


The  Eyes  of  Pity  403 

"He  asked  for  it?" 

"Yes.  He  was  suffering  horribly.  He  begged  me 
to  give  it  to  him.  I  couldn't  resist  his  pleading. " 

"You  didn't  love  him,  Nan?  "  he  went  on  evenly. 

"You  know  that,  Jim." 

"You  had  wished  him  dead  a  thousand  times?  " 

"Why  do  you  talk  so  queerly?  Why  do  you  ask  me 
such  questions.  Surely  you " 

"And  you  were  jealous  of  Harriet  Woodman?  " 

"No!  No!  What  could  put  such  a  thing  into  your 
head?" 

"You  saw  in  the  Sunday  papers,  the  day  before  his 
death,  the  sketch  of  Harriet's  life  and  the  fact  that  she 
was  going  to  sing  abroad?" 

"Yes,  yes,  but  what  of  it?" 

"You  saw  her  in  my  arms  the  night  of  her  triumph  and 
you  knew  that  I  was  going  to  sail  on  the  same  ship?  " 

"For  God's  sake,  are  you  accusing  me?"  she  cried, 
in  anguish. 

"He  asked  you  for  medicine,  Nan?"  he  went  on 
remorselessly. 

"Yes,  a  powder " 

"A  poisonous  powder  —  and  you  gave  him  one?  " 

"Yes." 

"But  he  begged  for  two?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you're  sure  you  gave  him  but  one?" 

"He  was  begging  for  two  —  I  might  have  given  them 
both  —  it's  possible,  of  course. " 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  look  of  pity. 

"I  know  that  you  did,  Nan,  know  it  as  certainly  as 
if  I  stood  by  your  side  and  saw  you  press  it  to  his  lips. " 

"You  know,  Jim?  "  she  cried  feebly,  her  head  drooping 
low. 

"And  you  have  no  consciousness  of  crime  in  the  act?" 


404  The  Root  of  Evil 

"I  only  did  what  he  wished.  I  couldn't  know  that 
it  would  be  fatal." 

"And  you  feel  no  remorse?" 

"Why  should  I?  His  death  seemed  only  a  question 
of  days"  - 

The  woman  began  to  sob. 

" My  only  crime  has  been  my  love! " 

"From  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  pity  you!"  Stuart 
broke  in,  softly.  "Not  merely  because  I  know  that 
you  have  committed  murder,  but  because  you  lack  the 
moral  power  to  realize  that  it  is  a  crime.  The  state 
will  never  reach  your  act  with  the  law.  But  the  big 
thing  is  you  have  no  consciousness  of  guilt,  and  feel  no 
remorse  because  you  have  no  soul.  You  have  only 
desires  and  impulses.  You  must  have  these  desires 
fulfilled  each  moment.  That's  why  you  couldn't 
wait  for  me  to  earn  my  fortune  honestly,  and  so  be 
trayed  me  for  gold.  I  can  see  it  all  now.  Your  beauty 
has  blinded  me.  The  touch  of  your  hand,  the  perfume 
of  your  breath,  the  sweet  memories  of  our  young  life 
together  have  held  me  in  a  spell. " 

"For  God's  sake,  Jim!"  she  cried  fiercely  —  "don't 
—  don't  talk  like  that!  I  can't  endure  it!  You  don't 
mean,  you  can't  mean  that  you  are  going  to  turn 
from  me  now!  Just  when  I've  found  your  love. 
Tell  me  that  you  hate  me,  if  you  will,  strike  me,  tell 
me  I  was  a  murderess  when  I  stabbed  your  heart  twelve 
years  ago,  but  you  must  love  me  or  I'll  die!  We  love 
because  we  love.  I'd  love  you  if  you  had  killed  a  hun 
dred  men!" 

Stuart  looked  at  her  through  a  mist  of  tears. 

"  The  spell  is  broken,  Nan,  dear,  our  romance  is 
ended.  I  don't  say  it  in  pride  or  anger,  I  say  it  in 
sorrow  —  a  great  deep,  pitying  sorrow,  that  cuts  and 
hurts!" 


The  Eyes  of  Pity  405 

Nan  suddenly  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
held  him  convulsively. 

"My  darling,  you  can't  leave  me!  I'm  pleading  for 
life!  Had  I  been  the  shallow,  soulless  creature  which 
you  believe  surely  I  might  have  been  content  with  my 
gilded  toys.  But  I  was  not.  I  was  just  a  woman  with 
a  heart  that  could  break.  Suppose  I  have  committed 
a  crime?  I  dared  it  for  love  —  a  love  so  great,  so  won 
derful,  that  I,  who  am  weak  and  timid,  afraid  to  be  alone 
in  the  dark,  faced  death  and  hell  for  you. " 

"No,  dear,  I  offered  you  my  life  and  love,  at  least 
without  the  stain  of  crime.  I  offered  to  go  with  you  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth.  You  didn't  do  this  thing  for 
love." 

He  slowly  drew  the  rounded  arms  from  his  neck,  and 
looked  long  and  tenderly  into  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

The  pleading  voice  ceased.  The  woman  saw  and 
understood.  She  had  at  last  passed  out  of  his  world. 
Only  the  memory  of  a  girl  he  had  once  loved  and  ideal 
ized  remained,  and  that  memory  was  now  unap 
proachable.  The  living  woman  was  no  longer  the 
figure  in  the  mental  picture.  The  struggle  was 
over. 

He  extended  his  hand,  clasped  hers,  bowed  and  kissed 
it,  turned  and  walked  quickly  toward  the  door. 

With  a  half  smothered  cry  she  followed. 

"Jim!" 

He  paused  and  turned  again,  facing  her  with  a  look 
of  infinite  sadness. 

"Remember,"  she  said  brokenly,  "I  never  expect 
to  see  you  again  —  we  can  not  meet  after  this.  I  am 
looking  into  your  dear  face  now  with  the  anguish  of 
a  broken  heart  strangling  me.  You  can  not  leave  like 
this,  we  have  been  too  much  to  each  other. " 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  close. 


406  The  Root  of  Evil 

"  Forgive  me,  dear/'  he  whispered,  reverently  kissing 
her  as  he  would  have  pressed  the  lips  of  the  dead.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  be  cruel  —  goodbye. " 

The  door  of  the  great  house  softly  closed,  and  he  was 
gone.  A  few  moments  later  the  servants  found  her 
limp  form  lying  in  a  swoon  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  EPILOGUE 

Strangers  no  longer  live  in  the  cottage  Stuart  built 
on  the  hills.  A  jaunty  sailboat  nods  at  the  buoy  near 
the  water's  edge.  The  drone  of  bees  from  the  fruit 
trees  in  full  bloom  on  the  terraces  promise  a  luscious  har 
vest  in  the  summer  and  fall.  The  lawn  is  a  wilderness 
of  flowers  and  shimmering  green.  The  climbing  roses 
on  the  southeastern  side  of  the  house  have  covered  it 
to  the  very  eaves  of  the  roof.  Stuart  has  just  cut 
them  away  from  Harriet's  window  because  they  inter 
fered  with  her  view  of  the  bay  and  sea  and  towering 
hills  they  love  so  well.  And  the  crooning  of  a  little 
mother  over  a  baby's  cradle  fills  the  home  with  music 
sweeter  to  its  builder  than  any  note  ever  heard  in  grand 
opera. 


THE   END 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS,    GARDEN   CITY,   N.   Y. 
407 


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